


Like A River

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew Serious McDeadpan Minyard Of The Lack Of Feelings, Andrew is very gay, Death omens but no one really dies, Divination, Fake Dating, Fake Relationship, Hogwarts AU, Like... slowest of smoulders slow burn, M/M, Magic, Magical Creatures, Nicky "innuendo on-point" Hemmick strikes again, Pining, Quidditch, Slow Burn, The Minyard twins have a bamf grandma, fake boyfriends, lo and behold this has actual plot, ugly christmas jumpers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 65,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Andrew was a statistical anomaly. He was both a Seer and a Squib, an unfortunate combination of genetic traits that still somehow got him into Hogwarts. He had both hands full babysitting Kevin Day, resident Quidditch prodigy, after the drama with Riko Moriyama in fifth year, and making sure his brother finished his last year of education after the death of their mother. What he did not need was another stray to take in – Neil Hatford, formerly Nathaniel Wesninski, prominent guest in Andrew's prophetic dreams with his blue, blue eyes and death omens flocking to him wherever he went. What he needed even less was to start pretending they were in a relationship, but then, Andrew never had been very interested in doing what was good for him.





	1. Bird bones and tea leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Overall trigger warnings: physical violence (but significantly less gory than canon), mentions of past child neglect and abuse (no explicit descriptions), mentions of past animal abuse (no explicit descriptions), brief mention of past eating disorder/body image problems, characters having panic attacks, some homophobic language, brief mention of drugs/drug withdrawal, scars are mentioned, descriptions of a character having visions, description of the beginnings of a dark ritual toward the end
> 
> If you have questions regarding possible triggers, don't hesitate to contact me. I will explicitly state trigger warnings for each chapter, but if you think there is something I missed, please let me know. Andrew's backstory is a little different in this AU and he moved in with Tilda and Aaron when he was eleven, so there was no Drake. You can make up your own mind about what he experienced before that in foster care, but there will be no mentions of sexual abuse in the story, just so you know in advance.
> 
> This fanfic is finished, but my beta and I need some time to clean up the writing. I will post new chapters when they're done. Thank you to my fantastic beta and biggest fan Janie, who reined in all my wayward commas and put up with my frenzied state for the last few weeks while I wrote this like a madwoman, ilu <3
> 
> ~
> 
> Chapter warnings: Brief mention of drugs/drug withdrawal, Andrew has a vision, brief mention of Andrew's self harm scars, brief allusion to past torture

By the start of Andrew's seventh year at Hogwarts, everyone knew about the Wesninskis.

Nathan Wesninski's trial took place at the end of the summer. While Andrew sat outside a bathroom in the middle of nowhere, watching the smoke from his cigarette and trying to tune out the sounds of his brother alternating between cursing him and begging for his drugs back, the newspapers buzzed with ever-new ugly details, words fresh and raw like live wires under Andrew's fingertips. He couldn't have stopped them from sinking their inky teeth into his mind if he'd tried, but at the time, he was almost grateful for the reprieve of someone else's drama that allowed him to leave behind the stagnant air of a dead woman's house for a few meagre hours each day as Aaron fought for sobriety and Nicky fretted downstairs.

It was odd to board the train without Nicky, like missing a not very important limb – a toe, perhaps, something you could easily live without, but which still threw off your balance every once in a while. He'd graduated last year and started his job at the Ministry in the summer. Andrew checked over his shoulder to reassure himself that Aaron and Kevin were still behind him, annoyed at the motherhen instinct to keep his remaining ducklings even closer to make up for the loss, and shoved open the door to a compartment at the very back of the train.

There was only one other person in it, and he was lucky no one else had found or recognised him yet.

Nathan Wesninski's son, formerly Nathaniel, now Neil Hatford after his mother had divorced Nathan and moved in with her brother Stuart, would be attending Hogwarts for the last year of his magical education, after being home-schooled by the country's most esteemed private tutors for six years. The news probably hadn't made the rounds just yet, since Mary had saved the announcement for the morning of the first of September. Andrew had flicked one glance at the headline and the accompanying picture over breakfast, and had gone back to pack his dream journal after all. Bee would be pleased, though Andrew still refused to go anywhere near her crystal balls.

“Um, Andrew, maybe we should...?” Kevin spoke up, clearly unnerved by the way Andrew had stilled in the doorway of the compartment. His eyes slid down the corridor in a request to find somewhere else to sit, but Andrew gave a brief shake of his head and stepped inside.

“Oh. Hi.”

Neil had leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, one leg bouncing nervously. He was tense and tracked all of their movements with guarded eyes which, Andrew noted, looked a lot bluer than they had in the photograph. Neither Aaron nor Kevin deigned to reply, so it fell on Andrew, who took the seat next to Neil, turned around to face him with one foot up on the seat, and got comfortable until he had a good view of their new celebrity.

“You don't look like him,” was the first thing out of his mouth, which was true, but also utterly ridiculous. Judging by the startled look on Neil's face, he was aware of the latter, but not the former. Neil Hatford was the spitting image of Nathan Wesninski, just younger and smaller, but their auras couldn't have been more different if Andrew had been wearing pink-tinged glasses in this moment.

“I – what?”

“Andrew,” Aaron said somewhere to his left. Andrew didn't look away from Neil. “Why are we here? That's -”

“Neil Abram Hatford, yes,” Andrew cut him off with a flick of his fingers. “Son of Mary Hatford and Nathan Wesninski, here to cause trouble for us. We are exactly where we should be. Now shut up and let the adults talk.”

Aaron snorted and muttered something about technically being the older of the two, but he did shut up after, which was a relief. Kevin, surly and hungover after he'd drunk himself into his customary pre-Hogwarts stupor under Andrew's supervision last night, curled up against the window with a grunt and pulled his coat over his face to block out the sunlight. He should have been in the Prefects' carriage, but then he was in no state to patrol the corridors anyway.

“Kevin Day,” Neil only just realised, that startled-deer look still on his face.

“The one and only,” Andrew agreed, voice flat like a stone skipping across water. “So you know about Quidditch, fantastic. The faster you get used to the real Kevin, the better, there's nothing quite so irritating as star-struck fans who saw him smile in Quidditch Weekly once.”

“What about -”

“Oh, we don't talk about Riko Moriyama,” Andrew said swiftly, honing his expression into something on the verge of dangerous and gleaning a small amount of pleasure from the twitch of Kevin's coat in the corner. Aaron rolled his eyes and pulled out a book to disappear behind for the rest of the train ride. He'd be starting his internship with the school nurse this year, and while Andrew was used to Aaron not being around all the time thanks to being in different houses, he was going to have to adjust to another proverbial missing toe, and Andrew didn't like it one bit.

“Oh,” Neil murmured belatedly. He blinked a few times, as if readjusting to a shift in reality, then the blank look from the photograph was back in his eyes, and he forced his leg to still. “So – so you're Andrew?”

“Minyard,” Andrew drawled, then pointed at the giant book that his brother was hiding behind. “My brother Aaron.”

“Right,” Neil nodded, as if those names meant anything to him. They would, of course, if he had attended Hogwarts before, but his face showed no recognition whatsoever. “I'm Neil. I mean, you already know that.”

Andrew let him fidget for a little while, one foot propped up on the cracked leather of the seat and the other dangling over the side, letting the top of his shoe scuff along the polished floor. It was warm in the compartment, but Neil showed no sign of wanting to change back out of his school robes, even though no one except for the first years was wearing theirs yet. The details on his robes were green, indicating that he had already been sorted, and Andrew felt another surge of resentment that Nicky had left him alone with a bunch of sickeningly cheery, wishy-washy, touchy-feely Hufflepuffs while the rest of his family was spread out across other houses. At least Renee could keep an eye on Neil when Andrew wasn't around.

“Slytherin, hm?” Andrew hummed when Neil's leg had started bouncing again, his gaze on the green at Neil's throat. It was a nice throat, the high collar beautifully restrictive, cutting into his Adam's apple. Andrew watched it bob as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Neil said. His eyes skittered briefly over Andrew's collar and sleeves as if expecting some hint as to Andrew's house colours, and for the first time, Andrew realised that technically he _was_ wearing a house colour – just not the primary one people associated with Hufflepuff – and made sure to flash Neil an exaggerated grin when his gaze flicked back up to his face.

“Your pin,” Neil surprised him by murmuring. “Is that a bee?”

Annoyed that Neil had noticed it, Andrew kicked his worn book bag off the seat and used the space to shuffle closer. Neil pressed himself back against the window, looking alarmed, but to his credit, he stayed in his seat.

“Neil, Neil, Neil,” Andrew sighed. “So inquisitive. Will you be taking Divination this year, hm?”

Something more urgent and deeper-rooted than alarm flashed in Neil's blue eyes, tugging at the short, brittle strings of interest still left in Andrew's threadbare mind.

“No,” Neil said tremulously. “I don't have it.”

“Your mother's gift, you mean,” Andrew elaborated, just to see that haunting in his eyes again, but Neil had wrangled it into submission by then. “No, I would think not. Male Seers are rare, and it usually skips at least one generation.”

He kept staring, and Neil kept staring back, shutters up and yet so exposed. Andrew could practically feel Aaron pretending he couldn't see what Andrew was doing, but Kevin was almost definitely asleep, soft snores emanating from under his coat.

“Did she know what would happen with your father, I wonder?” Andrew made himself ask at last. “Is that why you stayed?”

Neil swallowed.

“I don't know,” he said – _lie, lie, lie_ – “she never talked to me about these things.”

Andrew leaned back out of Neil's space again and laughed, let himself fall until he was a loose curl against the other side of the compartment, both shoes on the seat now and his eyes on the luggage rack above. Neil's suitcase was small, and though it might have just been subjected to a space-extension charm, Andrew doubted it: Neil was clearly someone who had grown up surrounded by everything, yet owning nothing.

“Seers can't stop the future from spilling out of their pockets every time they so much as pick up a pinch of tea leaves from a tin,” Andrew tutted idly, one hand dropping over the edge of the seat to trace the outline of his dream journal through his bag. Page upon page of cramped handwriting was testament to this fact, though Andrew didn't need to read them to know that they mentioned blue eyes a total of fifty-five times at an increasing frequency over the last few weeks. He had to write his dreams down within minutes of waking up or else he forgot all about them by lunchtime, but once the words were on the page Andrew's memory picked up the slack again. He could even see in his mind's eye the exact sentence where he'd described those eyes as being the colour of an overly zealous Expelliarmus, the words scratched out relentlessly even though Bee always told him not to do that.

Sitting next to Neil Hatford on the Hogwarts Express, watching him watch him, Andrew finally understood what he'd meant ( _Expelliarmus –_ _to disarm an opponent_ ) and dug his thumb nail into the spine of his journal in anger.

When the trolley witch came around, he dumped half the contents of his wallet into her withered hands and let her pile sweets in his arms without looking at what they were. He and the old biddy had an understanding, and her eyes twinkled as she balanced a single apple on top of the pile and sent him off.

Andrew dropped the lot on the seat between him and Neil and threw the apple hard at where he surmised Kevin's head was under the coat. There was a dull thud, followed by a long silence and a tentative groan. Finally, the coat shivered down, and Kevin peered at the apple in his lap like its very existence was offending him. Andrew could relate – he'd already bitten off the heads of two chocolate frogs – though not for the same reasons as Kevin.

“Eat up, Doomsday,” Andrew told him. “You're falling behind your daily nutrition intake.”

Kevin just groaned again and made pitiful grabby motions until Andrew got his water bottle out for him. Andrew briefly contemplated pouring it over his head, but settled for watching Neil staring at Kevin instead, and when it became clear that Kevin wasn't ready for solid foods yet he snatched the apple back and tossed it in Neil's lap.

“Are you disillusioned yet?” he asked, bored beyond belief by Neil's intense interest in Kevin. “You'll be sharing a dorm, you know. Nothing so helpful at snuffing out a crush as using the same bathroom after the person's taken a shit.”

Neil's eyes, at least, wandered back to him, unimpressed and narrow.

“I don't have a crush on him.”

“Sure you don't,” Andrew snorted. “Do him the favour of casting a silencing spell over his bed at night, will you? He's got terrible nightmares, very undignified. Oh, don't you know, maybe you'll end up sleeping in dear Riko's old bed.”

Andrew chuckled to himself as both Kevin and Neil looked a little ill at the thought, and grabbed another chocolate frog.

“Look, Kevin, it's daddy dearest again.”

He threw the card at Kevin, who flinched and caught it in his left hand, then threw it on the floor without so much as glancing at it. The surly face of David Wymack glared up at them for a moment before settling back into a nap against the side of the card.

“He's not my dad.”

“He's the flying instructor, isn't he?” Neil said, squinting down at Wymack. “He coaches the Quidditch teams. Used to play for the Wasps.”

“Ten points to Slytherin,” Andrew drawled, busy sorting Bertie Bott's beans into piles on the seat. If Nicky were here, he'd have had to bat his hand away three times already by now, and Andrew was unnerved by the way everyone just watched him doing it without interfering. He threw a sideways glance at Neil, who met his eyes evenly and bit into the apple Andrew had thrown at him, and Andrew huffed and made a fourth pile of beans – green apple, the broomstick polish Kevin never admitted he was crazy about, a sharp freckly ginger bean Andrew would have usually kept to himself, Nicky's buttered toast, a black tea bean that Andrew could only stomach together with a brown sugar bean if the bag had one. He pushed them at Neil with a challenge in his eyes and didn't even react when Aaron lurched forward to grab his own pile, consisting of glue, coffee, coconut, scrambled eggs, liquorice, mint chocolate chip and porridge today. He made sure to force Kevin's on him despite the way his face still twisted at the prospect of eating anything.

“Someone tell me what they are,” Kevin pleaded; resigned, after six years of enduring the same ritual, to the fact that Andrew would shove them down his throat if he didn't eat them himself. Aaron adjusted his glasses and glanced at the small heap of beans in his hand with a shrug.

“Spinach, Quidditch leather, vodka, sweat – gross, Andrew – grapes, freshly mown grass, espresso, and raw egg.”

“Raw egg?” Kevin gagged. “The fuck, Andrew?”

“Hangover cure,” Andrew grinned, scooping the leftover beans back into their package. He had kept a small pile of whisky, caramel, rum and raisin, brownie, treacle, and vanilla ice-cream for himself. Neil was still puzzling over his share, but Andrew noted with pleasure that he'd already eaten the apple and ginger ones and was nibbling on the tea bean.

“Ugh,” Kevin sighed, head thunking back against the seat.

“Oh, cheer up,” Andrew said. “Remember what Jean did last time you showed up drunk to Potions?”

Kevin shuddered meekly at the thought.

“Nicky always said you'd know which house a first year is going to be sorted in if you give them a bag of Bertie Botts and watch what happens,” Aaron mused idly. He contemplated his glue-flavoured bean, shrugged, and popped it in his mouth.

Kevin finally slapped his handful of beans over his mouth and swallowed them all at the same time, washing them down with a few gulps of water.

“That wasn't very Slytherin of you,” Aaron remarked. “Only Gryffindor slobs eat like that.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin retorted.

“That's more like it,” Aaron said, pointing at Neil, who was cautiously licking the tip of his broomstick polish bean and recoiled in surprise. The fact that he licked it again proved to Andrew that it was surprise at liking it more than surprise at the actual flavour, though.

“What about the other houses?” Neil asked, still looking intrigued over his broomstick polish bean.

“Ravenclaws,” Aaron pointed at himself, “tend to try and catalogue them. I spent most of my first year trying to make a comprehensive list of all the flavours, but as far as I know, they keep coming up with new ones, so it's futile, really.”

Then he gestured at Andrew, who was sucking on the ice-cream and brownie beans at the same time to mix the flavours.

“Hufflepuffs like to share.”

Neil looked surprised again, and Andrew rolled his eyes and went for the whisky next. He hadn't cared what house he was sorted into when he was eleven, and he didn't care now, no matter how many times Nicky had tried to instil some house pride or cultivate in him some of the more obvious attributes that Hufflepuff was generally known for, and which were much more abundant in people like Nicky. With Bee's help, Andrew had long since dissected and made peace with the qualities of himself that made him a Hufflepuff, though he wasn't going to share those particular insights with anyone; not even family.

“Kevin,” he said, in that tone of voice that made Kevin whimper. “Eat your fucking egg.”

Kevin had evidently thought he could get away with hiding the raw egg bean, but it only took one sharp look from Andrew before Kevin opened his hand around the last remaining bean, which looked cloudy white and slimy from the warmth of his palm, and swallowed it whole with a shudder.

“Good boy,” Andrew sneered, and produced a flask of Firewhisky from an inside pocket of his jacket. Kevin's eyes widened eagerly as he threw it at him, and he chugged down its contents in record time before wiping his mouth and sagging against the window in relief.

“Ah, baby alcoholics,” Andrew sighed. “They grow up so fast.”

He smirked at the uneasy look on Neil's face, and wider when Neil didn't say anything.

The rest of the train ride passed in silence. Andrew couldn't resist poking and prodding at it every once in a while, but Kevin had gone back to napping, Aaron was buried in his book, and Neil remained unresponsive and curled up tight in his corner.

It was fucking tedious, but at least Andrew was used to that.

*

Andrew tended to avoid the Hufflepuff table as much as he could, especially in the mornings. The younger Hufflepuffs didn't dare antagonise him by existing too close to him these days, but his classmates were a uniform annoyance whether they sat next to him or at the other end of the table, and unlike Andrew they were all, unfortunately, morning people. To make matters worse, Matt's girlfriend Dan and Alvarez' girlfriend Laila usually joined them for breakfast, crowding up their corner even further. While Andrew was okay with exchanging a nod with Laila in the corridors from time to time, he did not need to hear Alvarez coo over her bed hair or witness the particular torture that was Head Boy Jeremy Ob-Knox-ious making sure everyone had remembered to complete all of their homework the night before.

The Ravenclaw table was usually the least irritating to be at in the mornings, because everyone either had book hangovers or was still reading or quietly debating in small clumps, but Andrew needed to catch up with Renee on the first day of term. He dragged Aaron over to the Slytherins with him and snatched Kevin's mug of coffee out of his hands before he could take the first sip.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fuck off,” Kevin muttered, barely awake but sober at least. Satisfied with this, Andrew dumped four spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee and sat a bowl of porridge in front of his brother, who was once again buried in a book and probably unaware of where he was.

“Good morning, Andrew,” Renee said as Andrew waved her over to their end of the table. Allison was trailing after her, looking more put-together than the entirety of the Gryffindor table at the other end of the hall, and Andrew allowed her presence so long as she didn't block his view of Neil; who was curled protectively over his bowl a few seats down and fretfully reading the Daily Prophet.

“Did you have nice holidays?” Renee asked.

Andrew ignored the small talk and sprinkled a liberal amount of sugar over his porridge. Allison huffed and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“She asked you a question, wankstain.”

Andrew ignored her, too.

“There's Katelyn,” Aaron murmured, finally coming out of his literary stupor. He abandoned his half-eaten porridge in favour of greeting his girlfriend at the door and pulling out a chair for her at the Ravenclaw table. Andrew watched them with narrowed eyes for a while before drawing his focus back to his flock.

“Tell your grandmother thanks for the dried sage for me next time you speak with her, will you?” Renee continued as if they were still having a conversation. “It worked wonderfully.”

“Mad old woman,” Allison grumbled under her breath. Andrew didn't disagree – she _was_ a mad old woman, but she was also a brilliant mad old woman who had single-handedly cleaned up Tilda's act to a point where she'd at least kept her hands off Aaron, even if she'd never been much of a mother to either of them before she'd Splinched herself beyond repair at the end of the twins' sixth year. As often as Andrew had fantasised about Tilda's death; the actual event turned out to be a lot more tedious, what with the formalities of her funeral and getting Aaron off Tilda's drugs so he could finish his education as planned.

“Of course it worked,” Andrew said, waving a hand around as if to dispel some lingering smoke from the sage. “How is your new murder pop star settling in?”

“You mean Neil?” Renee hummed. “Maybe you'd better ask him about that yourself. Although I've heard he already had an argument with Jean and threatened to hex a nasty set of boils on Seth if he didn't shut up about his father.”

Despite her bland tone, there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye and, next to her, Allison threw her head back and laughed.

“I like him already,” Allison announced, and stole Kevin's second mug of coffee out from under his nose. “He's like one of those tiny, unassuming fireworks that light up the whole sky when you set them off just right.”

Renee tilted her head to the side, sipping at her tea. “Are you going to adopt him?” she asked mildly. “I will, if you don't.”

“He doesn't have it,” Andrew echoed what Neil had said on the train, but Renee only shrugged.

“Unsurprising. It usually skips at least one generation.”

Andrew squinted over to where Neil was finishing up his breakfast and hit his elbow on the table as he grabbed his bag and got up. As if feeling his eyes on him, Neil glanced up and met his gaze, and Andrew flicked him a small salute before turning back to the porridge Aaron had abandoned and cleaning out the bowl.

“He's mine.”

Renee smiled and inclined her head. “Alright. See you in class, Andrew.”

She stood up and Allison followed, grabbing a piece of toast on the way, and Andrew began the laborious process of getting enough caffeine and carbs into Kevin to make him coherent enough for first period Arithmancy.

*

“Neil! We meet again.”

“You literally haven't left me alone since breakfast,” Neil pointed out, a dull tiredness under the sharp edge of his words. Andrew wondered if he had slept at all. Neither Kevin nor Jean had been very forthcoming on the subject when he'd questioned them in Potions, and Andrew made a point of not talking to any of the other boys in the Slytherin seventh year dorms, including and especially Seth.

“Now, now,” Andrew tutted, “you disappeared for lunch. That wasn't very nice.”

“What do you want?” Neil sighed, frustration bleeding through. They were on their way to Creatures, although Andrew technically wasn't in this class and had Herbology now. Herbology wasn't nearly as interesting as Neil, though, since Andrew's grandmother had already taught him all the things that were relevant to him in that field, and Andrew had no doubts he'd pass his N.E.W.T.s with flying colours whether he went to class or not. The professors had long since given up on trying to remove him from classes to which he didn't belong ever since the Riko incident in fifth year, and Hernandez barely blinked at him as he saw them approach.

“Tell me about your mother,” Andrew demanded, grudgingly adjusting his walking speed to Neil's. He had no business being so fast when he was barely any taller than Andrew. His legs were longer, though, Andrew noted with disdain. “The great Seer Mary Hatford,” he added, sarcasm biting the heels of his words.

“I told you she doesn't talk to me about these things,” Neil insisted, increasing his walking speed again. “Why'd you want to know, anyway? I've been asked about my father more times than I can count since I got here, no one cares about my mother.”

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew merely said, and they joined a small group of students near the edge of the forest where Hernandez was handing out teapots and handfuls of dead bugs. Andrew screwed up his nose and passed the bag on to Neil, who shook several into his palm without batting an eye.

“Now, remember,” Hernandez was saying, “we're looking for nesting mothers, I don't want you touching the eggs or getting too close if you can help it, just check them for parasites and mark their nests so I know which ones to treat. Don't use the teapots unless things get out of hand, and watch out for the Kneazles. Are we clear?”

“What are we looking for?” Andrew whispered at Neil, who sighed and set off along one of the winding paths with a large, floral teapot clutched to his chest.

“Occamies. My father's people kept some as exotic pets before the Aurors seized them, so now Hernandez is trying to re-introduce them to the wild. He showed us when my mother brought me here to get sorted in the summer.”

One side of his mouth sagged as he spoke, like the words were a weight pulling down on the corner of his lips. Andrew allowed himself a tiny burst of surprise that Neil had decided to share this with him, even if it probably wasn't a secret and Andrew could have found out on his own. Somehow, it was a lot more satisfying to hear it from Neil himself, though, and Andrew resolved to always try and get his information from him first in the future.

“Why the teapots?” he asked, peering into the chipped monstrosity that Neil was carrying. It was dull and dusty inside, like it hadn't been used in a long time, and a single feather was plastered to the patina near the spout.

“Occamies are choranaptyxic,” Neil explained, wrestling the lid from Andrew's hand and putting it back on the pot. “They adapt their size to the available space. For some reason, they like teapots, so you can easily contain them inside one if you need to relocate them or if they get too big. We're just checking them for parasites today, though, so we shouldn't be needing them.”

Andrew gazed around at the still lush greenery of the forest. It was light and peaceful in these outer parts, and he bent down to tickle some Knotgrass that was growing along the edge of the path into submission and stuffed it in his pocket. Renee often used it for her potions.

“So, did you have one too?” he asked after they'd walked on in silence for a while. Neil frowned at him in confusion, so Andrew elaborated: “Occamy. You said your father's men held them as pets.”

Some of the colour in Neil's face drained to grey. “Oh. No. I wasn't allowed any pets.”

“Not even an owl?”

Neil snorted. “What would I have used it for?”

“Right,” Andrew said, “I forgot, you were basically Rapunzel.”

“Ra... what?”

“Muggle fairytale. Never mind. Where are those Occamies, then?”

Neil kept frowning at him, then shook his head and focused back on the path. They found two nests, though one of them seemed to be abandoned, and Neil crept close enough to the other to cast a diagnostic spell and mark the nest when it flashed red. They didn't need the teapot, to Andrew's vague disappointment, but they did run into a Kneazle around the next bend in the path.

“Oh,” Neil said, softly, and sank down to his knees. The Kneazle padded over to him, utterly unperturbed by their presence, and sat just close enough that Neil could reach it with his fingertips.

“You again,” Andrew said, noting the markings around the Kneazle's ears. Neil looked up quizzically and didn't notice the Kneazle creeping closer until it butted its head against Neil's palm with a disgruntled noise. “He visits the castle sometimes. Nicky – my cousin – had the brilliant idea of calling him King Fluffkins, and now he won't listen to anything else,” Andrew explained and rolled his eyes as King yowled in response to his name. “He's harmless, essentially.”

Not usually quite so cuddly, if Andrew was honest, though he wasn't going to tell Neil that, who was scratching carefully under King's chin now. Neil bent slightly sideways to inspect the small creature, fingertips tracing the distinct fur pattern around his ears, then sat back on his haunches and looked like he was trying to stifle a smile.

“That's actually a female,” he said. “I think she may have had kittens once, see the shape of her belly there? Not too recently though, or she wouldn't be wandering around on her own like this. I'd say she's around five years old.” He leaned down with his mouth close to the Kneazle's ear and crooned: “Don't you dare eat those Occamy babies when they hatch, you hear me?”

King blinked lazily at him as if to say she would think about it, maybe, and Neil pushed himself back to his feet and brushed Kneazle hair off his robes. Some of it clung stubbornly.

“Come on, let's see if we can find some more nests.”

Three unspectacular encounters with suspicious yet docile Occamy mothers later, Neil cast a Tempus with a sigh and turned them around to head back along one of the larger paths. The sun had hunkered down behind a sudden flock of grey-bellied clouds, all the residual warmth seeping over from August gone with its light, and Andrew shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him. It was very ominous and fitting, he thought, when Neil stumbled over a pile of bird bones on the ground, and Andrew didn't even need to lean down to know what they spelled out.

“The date for your father's execution,” he said calmly. “Is it soon?”

Neil froze, one hand convulsively clutched over one side of his jaw and mouth. Andrew's brain helpfully regurgitated the information that the Cruciatus curse hurt the most and the longest in your teeth, if you could get someone coherent enough to give you an answer before the memory blurred into a uniform mess of unbearable pain.

“He's not being executed,” Neil whispered, lowering his hand until it twitched uselessly by his side instead.

“He was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss,” Andrew pointed out. “You don't think that's an execution?”

The bird bones certainly seemed to think so. Omens of death were always so boring. Andrew remembered Tilda's: he'd poured himself the last remains of a pot of tea at breakfast by accident, leaving a smattering of tea leaves at the bottom of his cup – soggy, unappetising, spent.

He hadn't told Aaron but Aaron didn't need the Sight to read Andrew's face the way Andrew could read palms; so they'd both known by the time their grandmother's letter came at dinner.

“Not in his case,” Neil choked out at the end of a long silence, during which Andrew studiously kicked dirt over the bones. Neil's face was ashen, and his hands kept curling and uncurling by his sides. There was a distant, weary rumble of thunder that made Andrew flinch, though he doubted Neil noticed in his state.

“Of course,” Andrew said overly casually, and motioned for Neil to keep walking so they wouldn't get drenched by the rain that was brewing in the clouds above. “Abusers never die, do they? They've made themselves immortal in their victims.”

He pretended not to see Neil's full-body recoil at those words and picked up a brisker pace, hoping Neil would have the wherewithal to follow.

“Cast us an umbrella charm, would you?” Andrew demanded, and pointed at where Neil kept his wand in his sleeve when Neil just stared at him blankly. “Umbrella charm,” Andrew snapped, “now.”

Neil took three tries to fiddle his wand out of his sleeve, and the second the umbrella charm popped up above their heads the first raindrops already splattered off its taut surface.

Andrew felt himself gradually relax, and when they stepped out of the trees where Hernandez was waiting impatiently and the rest of their classmates were dispersing, umbrella and Impervious charms shining slickly under the onslaught, there was no trace of Neil's earlier horror left to the naked eye.

Andrew left him to report back to Hernandez, and slipped back to the castle under someone else's umbrella charm without another word.

*

The N.E.W.T. Level Divination class consisted of a grand total of four seventh year students. Bee had moved them from the regular Divination classroom to her office; where they sat around the fire in squashy armchairs, sipping hot chocolate and debating their latest dreams and star charts, helping Renee puzzle out the ingredients of a potion, refining Jean's newest tarot spreads or coming up with ever more ridiculous questions for Katelyn's pendulum to see when it would throw in the towel. Divination was the only time when Andrew tolerated being around Katelyn. If pressed he'd even grudgingly concede that she had found some clever ways of combining her knack for the pendulum with her ambitions to train as a healer after school, though not within hearing range of Aaron.

He sighed internally when he entered the office for the first lesson that year and found four identical crystal balls lined up on the edge of Bee's desk.

“Good afternoon, Andrew. How are you today?” Bee asked, looking up from her book with a smile, reading glasses perched delicately on the end of her nose. Andrew dropped into a chair and pushed himself as far away from the desk as possible.

“No,” he said, pointedly not looking at the crystal ball in front of him. “I told you I'd rather gouge my eyes out.”

“Tough luck,” Bee shrugged. “It's part of the curriculum. It will definitely come up in your N.E.W.T.s and you can't avoid it forever, Andrew.”

“N.E.W.T.s in Divination are a fucking travesty,” Andrew muttered, frustrated, because they'd had this discussion several times over the years, but Bee still expected him to take the exams. Somewhere along the way, Andrew had stopped being immune to what Bee expected of him.

Jean and Renee arrived together, deep in discussion about Muggle astrology, and once Aaron had dropped Katelyn off with a reserved nod at Andrew, Bee put away her book and cleared her throat.

“Welcome back,” she said warmly. Andrew tuned out her customary start of term speech and tried to pin his focus to different parts of the room, but his eyes kept sliding back to the crystal balls. Bee had made him try out a few different Divination techniques in third year and that had been the first and only time he had gazed into a crystal ball, expecting it to be a bit like Muggle television. It had been nothing like that, and the resulting panic attack on the floor of Bee's office had not been pretty.

“Crystal balls act like spotlights or magnifying charms in your brain,” Bee was saying, her calm, steady voice solidifying once again in Andrew's mind. “They can only highlight what's already there. You do not need the Sight to use them, though the visions might be blurry and unclear for you at first, and I don't expect you to make much sense of what you see in the beginning. This is an art that requires practice and expertise, and interpreting what you see isn't always possible, even for a trained mind, but over time it can become a very helpful tool if you let it. For now, I want you to meditate before you use them, and concentrate on directing the vision to a specific topic you'd like to explore. We'll begin with the usual.”

She guided them through their standard opening meditation, and Andrew forced his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. The air was still taut with unspent end-of-summer storms, rain itching at the back of his head even when the sun came out for short stretches of time, and Andrew felt restless and migrainey; stretched thin between his obligations to Kevin and Aaron, his classwork, his friendship with Renee, Nicky's absence, the problem of Neil Hatford, and now Bee's impossible demands.

“Good,” Bee murmured into the silence, “now, whenever you're ready.”

One by one, the others leaned forward over their crystal balls, Jean and Katelyn with their brows furrowed in concentration, Renee taking a little more time to ground herself first. Andrew put his elbows on the desk each side of his own, squeezed his eyes shut for another moment, then bent down until his forehead was touching the crystal and opened them again.

Nothing happened at first, and he almost threw the crystal ball away from him in triumph, but then the beginnings of the vision spread like mould from its depths. It wasn't any more pleasant the second time than it had been the first, that creeping, wide-awake feeling like waking up from a nightmare in the dark when reality still seemed just out of reach.

Andrew knew that he was supposed to take control but he felt paralysed in his seat, and before he could make an attempt to grasp at the edges of the vision it had overtaken him and seeped into his skin like ice-cold water. There were voices, tangled like wool; an echo in a high-ceilinged room; chains winding themselves around a pair of arms, which then morphed into different arms, freckled and scarred; suddenly Andrew looked down and found his own arms exposed, the scars forming constellations that spelled out a warning. The cold wasn't just a by-product anymore, it came from the Dementor in the corner; bird bones scattered on the floor of a prison cell; laughing blue eyes shone in the dark before something drained from them; more words, this time clear and precise as a knife in his skull, though Andrew couldn't hear the voice that was uttering them: _thank you, you were amazing, amazing, you were – thank you, you were – you –_

“Andrew,” Bee's voice slowly eased him out of the vision. “That's it, there you are. Careful now.”

He was on the floor again. The crystal ball had rolled under the desk and Bee was crouched over him, a hand hovering near his shoulder without touching. He could see Renee holding a cup of tea ready with a frown on her face. Jean and Katelyn were watching from a distance, looking unnerved, and Andrew hated being so vulnerable in front of them.

“Told you it was bad idea,” he croaked at Bee, whose face fell into an easy smile.

“Can you sit up?”

Andrew wasn't sure but did it anyway, because no way in hell was he going to stay on the floor with all these people in the room. Already the details of the vision were starting to fade, leaving him with the clammy, shivery feeling of having been out in the rain for too long, and Andrew wondered how Bee thought he was going to impress any examiners when he was locked so tight in his visions they had to pry him back out; and then forgot all about them before he could even attempt to describe anything.

Bee and Renee politely averted their eyes while Andrew struggled to pull himself back into his chair. Katelyn looked like she was a second away from forcing chocolate or Pepper-Up on him and Jean was watching him intently with his customary scowl. Once he had finished gathering up the shattered remains of his dignity Renee put the cup of tea in his shaking hands, and Andrew grimaced and took a sip, grateful to find that she at least hadn't skimped on the sugar.

“I am going to conclude the lesson here,” Bee said gently. “Crystal gazing can take a lot out of you, especially the first few times. I'd advise you to have a snack and rest a bit before you go to your next class. For homework, I want you to write about your experience and what aspect of it you would like to work on next time. If we make good progress, we might be able to try more experimental forms of scrying at the end of the month. I wish you all a good afternoon, and I will see you again on Friday.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at her, trying to find out if she was doing this for his benefit or not, but as always, Bee was unreadable. She sent them on their way with chocolate biscuits, until only Andrew remained with his half-drunk tea.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bee asked him, holding out the biscuit tin until he grudgingly took one.

“No.”

“Alright. You know that I am here for you if you do, though.”

Andrew nodded, and Bee picked up her book again: a clear dismissal. He went over to the sink and washed out his cup by hand, put it on the drying rack, and left her office without another word.

It was almost time to pick Kevin up from Transfiguration, no matter how bone tired he felt, and then there was Quidditch practice and homework to look forward to before he had to play another round of his own personal insomnia roulette.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd dream about Neil again.

*

“Ah! Sorry, I wasn't – Andrew?”

Andrew let the wind whip the smoke from his lips and watched Neil hesitate at the top of the stairs. The Astronomy tower was one of his usual midnight haunts, but he was too exhausted to muster up even a spark of curiosity about what Neil was doing here, settling instead for looking back up at the sky as Neil sat down next to him on the bare stone floor.

“Great, now it looks like I'm the one stalking you,” Neil sighed with a weak attempt at a wry smile playing around the edge of his mouth.

Andrew didn't respond, so Neil made himself comfortable in the silence instead, and shook his wand out of his sleeve to cast a warming charm around them. It must have been a good one, because it held even though the wind kept tearing at it. Andrew resisted the urge to snuggle down in it like a warm blanket, surprised at how much of a difference it made.

“Hernandez owled me this morning,” Neil said after a long while. “The first Occamy babies have hatched. Want to go down and see them tomorrow?”

Andrew blinked.

“What makes you think I'm interested in looking at a bunch of scaly chicken worms?”

Neil grinned a little and shrugged.

“I thought maybe you'd bonded with them when we checked them for parasites.”

“I don't bond,” Andrew scoffed, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it over the edge. The glowing tip briefly spiralled through the darkness, looking like a star out of control.

“What about Kevin?” Neil asked.

“Oh, ouch. Straight for the jugular,” Andrew muttered, rolling his eyes. “Kevin is under my protection. That's not bonding, that's a business arrangement.”

“Protection from what?”

Andrew tutted.

“Still so many questions. Tell me about your mother, and perhaps I'll tell you about Kevin.”

Frowning, Neil hunched in on himself and watched a spider scuttle over the floor. Andrew was not fond of spiders, but then again, that was why he was up here on the Astronomy tower – to feel un-fond. To feel.

“I don't know if I can,” Neil finally admitted. “What do you want to know?”

“They say she's the most gifted scryer in the country. Is it true?”

Neil shifted nervously. “Maybe. She's very good, but she never lets me watch. Sometimes it happens by accident, and it's like she has – a fit, or something. It's not very nice to see.”

“It never is,” Andrew agreed quietly, bitterly. “What media does she use?”

“Um,” Neil said. “Mirrors, mostly. Bowls of water. As far as I know.”

Andrew let himself track constellations in the sky, like running fingertips over the ridges of familiar old scars, and felt weary and weighed down. The beginnings of dreams were already jostling for space inside his head, and he knew he was going to be treated to a re-cap of the crystal ball vision's highlights the minute he allowed himself to close his eyes.

“Renee said you have it too,” Neil murmured, chin tucked into the crook of his elbow, which was resting on his knees. “Is that why you're so interested in my mother?”

“Give me your hand,” Andrew demanded. He could pinpoint the exact moment Neil understood what he wanted to do, because he flinched back from him, but a moment later he did as he was told and held out his hand.

Andrew stared at it, suspended between their bodies, then cupped his own palm around it and coaxed Neil's fingers open until he could see the lines. Neil's hand was warm and dry, his pulse thrumming eagerly under the flimsy skin of his wrist. The nails were bitten down to desperate stubs and old scabs on his knuckles and fingers had recently been scratched open again. Andrew caught himself looking at these things because they were such a lively contrast to the wasteland etched in the lines of Neil's palm.

“Are you aware that you were supposed to have died by now,” Andrew asked conversationally, and this time, Neil didn't flinch.

“Just because my mother liked to keep these things to herself doesn't mean I never sneaked a look at her books,” Neil said, wryly, and dropped his hand back to the floor to press it palm-down against the cold stone. Andrew nodded: palmistry didn't require the Sight, at least not in its rudimentary form, and even a first year student would have been able to read what wasn't so much written as painted boldly and sloppily all over Neil's palm.

Wordlessly, Andrew held out his own hand and waited until Neil got the hint and leaned over to study it.

“Well... this might surprise you, but you have a twin,” Neil joked. Andrew shrugged.

“It did when I was five.”

“What do you mean?”

With a sigh, Andrew took his hand back and lay down on the floor so he could trace the stars more easily. Neil remained sitting, knees pulled in and eyes clear and bright in the untidy scrawl of moonlight marking his face.

“Aaron's mother gave me up for adoption right after we were born. I bounced around Muggle foster homes for eleven years, until I got my Hogwarts letter and she suddenly became very interested in taking me back in.”

“Oh,” Neil said. “So you didn't even know you had a brother until then?”

“I figured it out when I was five. The family I was staying with put me in therapy, they thought I was having hallucinations or making stuff up.”

“Fuck,” Neil said softly, emphatically. Andrew had the peculiar urge to laugh and squashed it down viciously.

“Oops, time's up,” he said when he had himself back under control. “Looks like you'll have to trade me something else for Kevin's story. Think about it, hm?”

He heaved himself to his feet, light-headed and heavy-kneed, and groped along the wall to steady his way back to the staircase. His stomach, spent from the many strains of the day, nonetheless clenched up in nausea as his gaze skittered over the edge of the tower.

“Alright, I will,” Neil called after him. “Good night, Andrew.”

Andrew flicked him a weary salute and disappeared down the stairs.

 


	2. Falling and flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hogsmeade outing, another Divination lesson, some reckless flying, and Neil dragging Seth for being a homophobic prick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Andrew has visions again, homophobic language
> 
> Thanks to Janie for doing the tedious job of playing comma exterminator again and adding gold star tags to this fic. You're my best girl.
> 
> Next update will probably be a little sooner, thank you for all your lovely comments!

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was unseasonably warm for September. Andrew left his robes behind in favour of his lighter leather jacket and joined Aaron at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast, spooning liberal amounts of jam on his scone to keep him going until lunch. Last year, Aaron had boycotted Hogsmeade for three successive months until Andrew had let him take Katelyn, so Andrew left them to it after breakfast and went to pick up Kevin at the Slytherin table. With Kevin came Jean these days, and with Jean came Renee, and with Renee came Allison, which meant it took them all a lot longer to get going than Andrew would have liked, but he was somewhat mollified by the fact that Renee had managed to talk Neil into joining them as well.

“Do you never get tired of wearing your school robes?” Andrew asked him as he fell into step beside Neil. Dry leaves crunched underfoot and morning was slowly melting down to noon in the rich, caramelly September light. A breeze ruffled the strands of Neil's coppery hair as he turned to greet Andrew.

“I didn't pack much else,” Neil admitted, tugging on his sleeve. “Most of my stuff is still at – at my father's house. We only took what we needed.”

“There are such things as shops in Hogsmeade, you know,” Andrew said. “Places where you can exchange money for, say, clothes. Are you familiar with the concept?”

A wayward smile tugged at the corner of Neil's mouth.

“Are you familiar with the existence of colours other than black?” he shot back, looking pointedly at Andrew's jacket. Andrew merely hummed and watched as Renee gently bullied Jean into applying some of her home-made sunscreen on his face.

Halfway to the village, Andrew and Neil fell back because King came nosing out of the underbrush and insisted on saying hello to Neil. Andrew waited impatiently, trying to keep Kevin in his line of sight. He was talking to Allison about ancient Muggle history and failing to correctly interpret the look on her face as utter disinterest, and when they disappeared behind a bend Andrew had enough of Neil crooning at a filthy Kneazle and tugged him away by the hood on his robe.

“She just wanted to tell me about her day,” Neil whined, flailing to keep his balance. He shook Andrew off but followed him meekly, head twisted around to watch King retreat back into the woods with a last swish of her tail.

“It's a Kneazle,” Andrew said, unimpressed. “What kind of day could she have had?”

Neil's lip curled in a soft smile. “A very exciting one, by the sounds of it. Hey, where did the others go?”

The path in front of them was clear. They were almost at the village, and Andrew knew that Renee would be keeping an eye on Kevin for him but his stomach still twinged with unease at being separated from him out in the open. He picked up his pace, keeping Neil in the periphery of his vision, and didn't even stop to glare pettily at Aaron and Katelyn when they passed them outside Scrivenshaft's.

They finally found Kevin and the others amid a cluster of tables outside the pub, ordering a round of iced Butterbeers, and Andrew prodded Jean out of the chair next to Kevin and then prodded at him some more until he got his own chair so that Neil could sit next to Andrew. Jean muttered a curse in French and sat between the girls instead, leaving Allison on Neil's other side, who pursed her lips at Neil's robes in disapproval.

“You need nicer clothes,” she decided, and Neil looked torn between mild offence and resignation and shot Andrew a look.

“So I've been told. Andrew's taking me shopping later.”

“Oh, is he?” Allison said, trying to catch Andrew's eye, but Andrew was too busy staring Neil's tentative smirk down. “Well, he does have good taste, so I suppose I can allow it. Don't just dress him up in black, though, Andrew, do you hear?”

Instead of shrinking, Neil's smirk only grew. “Yes, Andrew, not just black,” he parroted happily.

Andrew rolled his eyes. If there was one colour he was going to smother Neil in it was blue, which should have been obvious to anyone with working eyes in their heads. Maybe some soft greys. Something earthy and warm to match his hair – Andrew had dreamed about running his hands through it the night before, which was unfortunate, because he was pretty sure it had just been a regular dream, not a vision.

That was the trouble with being both prone to prophetic dreams and nightmares: the more intense the dream, the harder it got to tell the two apart. As for the sex dreams, the jury was still out entirely – if those were prophetic, Andrew had yet to find out.

Best not to think about it while Neil was sitting next to him with a Butterbeer moustache on his upper lip and the top button of his collar undone.

“I haven't had this in ages,” Neil was telling Renee, indicating his drink. “My mum used to warm some up for me to help me sleep when I was little. I didn't know you could have it iced.”

“Don't be silly, you can have everything iced,” Allison scoffed, sipping at her Gillywater. Then her gaze turned shrewd. “Hey, kid. If you and your mum are in need of a good lawyer, let me know. I happen to know the best.”

“What, your parents?” Jean sneered, but Allison only threw him a pitying look and nearly hit him in the face with her long hair as she tossed it over her shoulder.

“My father is already representing Wesninski senior,” she said casually. By the frozen look on Neil's face, he hadn't been aware of that. “And no, they're not the best, as much as they would like to be. Here,” she slipped Neil a business card, “this is an agency I've been building up with a few junior lawyers, I'll be joining them after graduation. We specialise in cases of domestic violence.”

Neil, looking terribly uncomfortable, managed a rough approximation of a nod and stuck the card in a pocket of his robes with unsteady fingers.

“I thought Wesninski was already in for the Dementor's Kiss,” Jean pointed out mercilessly. “What else could they probably get out of him?”

Allison's smile was ruthless. “Believe me, any one of these lawyers could strip Nathan Wesninski bare before that Dementor so much as caresses his face. Have you any idea how much the Wesninski estates are worth? How much gold is buried deep in the very arsehole of Gringotts in the Wesninski name? The artwork, the -”

“They've all been seized by the state,” Neil finally gathered up enough spit to interrupt. He looked wan and exhausted, but he still shot Allison a weary smile. “My father's business wasn't exactly legal, after all. It's fine, though, my uncle Stuart's got a nice country house and about ten thousand cats. We're fine.”

Allison clearly wasn't convinced, but Renee decided they'd talked enough about unpleasant topics and suggested splitting up once they finished their drinks to do all their shopping and meeting back at the pub for lunch. After some discussion on who would go with whom, Andrew relented and let Renee take over Kevin, who wanted to look at Quidditch gear with Jean, while Allison came with them to Gladrags to make sure Andrew made the right choices in picking out clothes for Neil.

It didn't take Andrew long to assemble a few outfits for Neil to try on, but before Neil took them into the changing room with him he nodded at the display of Gladrags' signature speciality socks; currently an eyesore in flashing rainbow neon. Andrew quirked an eyebrow at him, and Neil grinned.

“Just thinking you could start small and work your way up,” he said. “Unless you prefer the Quidditch-themed underwear over there. I'm pretty sure I saw a nice pink thong that said something cheesy like _I'm a Keeper_ – Kevin said you're actually Keeper for the Hufflepuff team...”

Andrew gave him his best unimpressed glare, but Neil just stared back challengingly until Andrew huffed and grabbed the nearest pair of violently yellow socks.

“House colour,” Neil smirked approvingly, “very nice.”

“Shut up,” Andrew growled, and Neil gave him the same two-fingered salute that Andrew had used on him a few times and went into the changing room. Andrew dug his nails into the socks, which promptly turned an angry garish orange in his grip, and resolutely did not think about Neil taking off his robes mere feet away from him.

When they returned to the Three Broomsticks for lunch, Andrew was too busy pulling Kevin down next to him and trying not to look at the way Neil turned his face into the sunshine like a cat seeking warmth that he noticed too late when Aaron and Katelyn joined them. Katelyn pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.

“Hello, Andrew,” she said cautiously, her hand entwined with Aaron's on her other side. “How are you feeling? You weren't in Divination yesterday, I was worried after last time.”

Andrew glared and blew smoke from his cigarette at her, but Katelyn wasn't fazed and flicked her wand at the smoke to disperse it. His cigarette went out, and Andrew dropped it on the ground. Foolishly, Katelyn kept waiting for a different answer. Andrew studiously ignored the way Aaron's attention had shifted onto him at Katelyn's words, and scooped whipped cream off the top of his hot chocolate with his spoon.

“What happened last time?” Aaron finally asked, eyes still on Andrew. Next to Kevin, Neil was now also listening to their conversation after Allison and Renee had gone inside to order food, and Andrew ground his teeth in frustration.

“We started on crystal balls and Andrew passed out,” Katelyn volunteered easily. Andrew contemplated whether his spoon would break if he tried to stab her with it. “Visions can be like that sometimes, they take a lot out of you. Did you see Abby about it, Andrew?”

Andrew flicked her a bored look, then glowered down at his hot chocolate. They never put enough cream on it.

“Don't call her Abby,” Aaron grumbled tetchily, “she's our boss, it's _weird_.”

“She's not our boss, we just help her out,” Katelyn smiled, patting his hand. “Tell your brother he should talk to her, he won't listen to me when I tell him she can give him Dreamless Sleep. Those bags under his eyes are starting to look unhealthy.”

“He doesn't listen to me either,” Aaron said. Oh, how right he was, and how Andrew loved it when they talked about him like he wasn't there.

“Dreamless Sleep doesn't help with prophetic dreams,” Andrew said around a slow curling smile. “Shouldn't you know that, as an aspiring nurse?”

“Healer,” Katelyn corrected him breezily. “Aaron's the one who wants to be a nurse. What do you want to eat, Andrew? We'll get you something.”

“Another hot chocolate,” Andrew said blandly. “Extra whipped cream.”

“A sandwich it is, then,” Katelyn grinned, and tugged Aaron after her into the pub. They passed Allison and Renee who were carrying plates of chips, one of which Renee put down in front of Jean. He scrambled to get up and pull her chair out for her, earning himself an amused glance from Allison.

By accident, Andrew looked over and caught Neil's eye. Neil gave him a small, tired smile; then reached over and tapped his hot chocolate with his wand, making the last residues of cream that were floating on the surface balloon up until the mound threatened to teeter over the edge of the goblet.

“Little trick I learned from my mum,” he murmured.

Andrew scooped up a spoonful of cream and scrutinised it. He stuck it in his mouth, expecting it to taste like stale air, the way food sometimes did when you magically increased its quantity – a summer of Nicky trying desperately to feed the three of them when their grandmother had been in St. Mungo's with dragon pox and Tilda had been too far gone on her drugs to remember mealtimes had acquainted Andrew well with the taste – but the cream just tasted like cream.

A cloud shivered past the sun, and Andrew pulled his hood up and sank further in his chair, both hands cupped around his goblet to stave off the sudden chill.

*

Not going to the hospital wing about his insomnia and skipping classes to see the newly hatched Occamies with Neil or to pull Kevin out of a panic attack in the library were one thing, but Andrew couldn't avoid Bee forever. On Wednesday, he went back to Divination with a carefully wrapped glass ornament as an apology for his absence on Friday. Bee accepted it with a nod and put it away – she disliked reorganising her figurines by magic and would take time to do it by hand later.

Andrew stalled for time by extending his meditation, but there was only so much Bee would let him get away with, and when he finally bent over his crystal ball he had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to end up on the floor of her office again. The vision was more or less the same as last time, or maybe it just felt like a déjà-vu since Andrew couldn't actually remember the first one, except then there was a burst of green light at the end that definitely hadn't been there before. Andrew came to on his knees and just about managed to lean over the edge of the rug before heaving up his breakfast in a messy spill.

Bee crouched down next to him with a soothing hum of words and waved her wand to clean up the floor and the front of Andrew's robes.

He spent the remainder of the lesson on the sofa in the small sitting room next to Bee's office, staring at the fire and trying to swallow around the sour taste in his mouth, a mug of tea going cold in his hands. At some point he must have drifted off, because when he woke, there were voices next door and Katelyn was perched in front of the sofa with a fresh cup of tea.

“Hey,” she smiled. “Feeling better? I made you some ginger tea, for your stomach.”

Andrew ignored the tea and tried to sit up, but his limbs felt coiled tight and heavy, like he would strike out the moment he moved them: a human Whomping Willow.

Katelyn put the tea down on the floor and settled into a cross-legged position. For a moment Andrew wished Evanesco worked on people, then he remembered that he couldn't have done it even if there had been a spell for it.

Well. A spell other than Avada, anyway, and Katelyn was merely an irritating bug in the periphery of his vision; not nearly troubling enough to warrant the effort of murder.

“I have some hangover potion,” Katelyn said, pulling a small, sealed glass vial out of her pocket and holding it in her lap. “This one works wonders for all kinds of, well, feeling like shit. You can have it if you want.”

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head, swallowed down the taste of bile, and held out his hand.

Katelyn didn't move.

“Summon it.”

“Why,” Andrew croaked. She was sitting right there, all she had to do was lift her hand.

“I want to see you do it,” Katelyn said coolly, and put the vial down on the ground well outside of Andrew's reach. “Come on, it's a simple spell. Fourth year, if I remember correctly.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said, and let his hand drop. He tried to pick up the tea instead but Katelyn was faster and moved that one away too.

“I left my wand at the dorms,” Andrew tried.

“Who leaves their wand at the dorms for class?” Katelyn said, shaking her head. Her curls bounced with the movement and Andrew wanted to grab them and pull until she screamed.

“Take mine,” Katelyn said, holding her wand out by the handle. Her smile was sweet and brittle, like stale toffee. Andrew looked at the wand, but didn't reach out to take it. He could cast basic spells with his own wand if he tried hard enough, but even the thought of using someone else's made him recoil in exhaustion. In his current state, it was unthinkable.

Katelyn lowered her wand.

“Thought so,” she said, an edge of satisfaction in her voice.

“If you knew, why did you test me?” Andrew asked grumpily, looking over at the vial and the tea again with longing. He wasn't going to give her the pleasure of asking for them, though.

Katelyn shrugged. “Wanted to make sure, I guess. You've successfully fooled your own twin brother into thinking you're just a lazy, contrary bastard. I might have been wrong.”

“But you weren't.”

“I wasn't,” Katelyn agreed.

“Did you tell Aaron about your suspicions?” Andrew sneered. “Did you talk your little theories over with him whenever I wasn't around?”

“No,” Katelyn surprised him by saying. “I did ask Renee, but she wouldn't tell me anything.”

Renee was a real friend. Next time Andrew would have to give her permission to lie, though, instead of fuelling suspicions by refusing to give answers.

“Do the professors know you're on the magically challenged spectrum?” Katelyn asked, matter-of-factly.

“Do they know I'm essentially a Squib and only got my letter because I also happen to have the Sight?” Andrew scoffed, his throat raw with discomfort. “Like hell.”

Bee knew, of course, but she hadn't been Professor Dobson to him since third year.

“There are accommodations, you know,” Katelyn said softly, and picked up the vial. She broke the seal with a baby blue painted fingernail, tipped the contents into the mug of tea and pushed that over to where Andrew could pick it up without falling off the sofa. “Abby could help you -”

“I don't need help,” Andrew snarled. He nearly upended the tea over Katelyn's robes, but reined himself in at the last moment and drank it instead. The potion had made it taste vile, but his headache eased immediately and his roiling stomach settled.

“Sure,” Katelyn shrugged. “But if you find you do – well, you know where to find me. Oh, and another thing. You should really tell Aaron.”

She stood up, dusted herself off despite the fact that Bee's floors were spotless, and left him moping on the sofa until Bee kicked him out and he had to go pick Kevin up for his Quidditch practice. Without Riko there to terrorise them the Slytherin team had accepted Andrew's inevitable presence at all of their practices, mostly because he didn't so much watch them as take a nap in the stands, but today he wasn't the only spectator. Suddenly he didn't feel so tired anymore.

“Hey,” Neil greeted him when Andrew had finished climbing to the top of the stands, slightly winded from the exercise and the height. He had his arms braced on his knees, one leg jiggling restlessly, and his hair was windswept and glowed like embers in the last smouldering glance the sun cast over the shoulder of the horizon.

“ _Hey_ ,” Andrew mocked, leaving a seat between them as he sat down. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and offered it to Neil, who took it but didn't light it; just fidgeted it around in his hands. That was irritating, so Andrew grabbed it back and tossed it down the stands before lighting his own with the silver Muggle lighter that people assumed he used for the aesthetic but which was really so much more practical than wasting energy on an Incendio. Even if you weren't a Squib, the spell had to be carefully controlled if you didn't want to set fire to your entire arm.

“Kevin said I could watch,” Neil murmured, eyes on the green-clad players above who were just warming up. Renee waved at Andrew from goal and Kevin was berating an unimpressed Thea for something while Jean flew a loop of the pitch in tight formation with the Beaters, Seth and Allison.

“Do you play?”

For a moment, Neil's leg froze, then started bouncing at an even higher frequency.

“No,” he said. “I spent my entire life holed up on an estate with only my mother and the house elves for company, the occasional appearance of my father and his _business partners_ aside. Who would I have played with? I wasn't even allowed to fly.”

“Wasn't allowed to isn't the same as didn't do it,” Andrew pointed out.

Neil tore his gaze away from the players in the air to look at him, then turned away to hide an almost mischievous grin.

“Course I did it,” he mumbled, his voice scratchy at the thrill of the admission. It was weirdly contagious, and Andrew had to take a deep drag of his cigarette to centre himself.

If it hadn't already been obvious from the moony eyes Neil still made at Kevin, it became clear over the course of the Slytherin team's practice that Neil was more of a Quidditch fan than he liked to admit. His face was oddly expressive when he forgot to nail it down on bored attentiveness, and his body winced at hard plays and strained forward in his seat at skilful manoeuvres; hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs. Andrew spent more time watching Neil than anything else, and had smoked his way through three cigarettes when practice was winding down in the very last dregs of daylight.

It was chilly now that the sun was gone, and Andrew hunched into his cloak and kicked at the back of the seat in front of him. Neil looked wistfully up at the sky and the descending players. With a sigh, Andrew got up and tugged at Neil's sleeve to follow him.

“What kind of broom did you use?”

“Hm? Oh, whatever my father had around to show off. He never flew them, but he always got the newest models before they were released on the market.”

“Not the school brooms, then,” Andrew muttered to himself as they made their way over to the broom shed. The shed was locked with a spell that only responded to Wymack and the team captains, but Andrew had broken into it enough times that the lock easily gave way under his picks before Neil so much as realised what he was doing. Andrew grabbed the broom he'd bought with his half of Tilda's life insurance money at the end of the summer, sleek and black and built for racing, more expensive than a medium-sized house and definitely not on the list of approved broomsticks for school Quidditch so he hadn't had much chance to fly it yet. He chose Allison's shiny new Foxtail for Neil, which was only just on the legal end of that list and smoother to handle than Andrew's Twilight, and left the door unlocked behind them as they sneaked around the back of the pitch to avoid running into the Slytherin team when they came out of the changing rooms.

“What about Kevin?” Neil asked, reverently clutching the broomstick like it was something precious rather than merely expensive.

“Renee will keep an eye on him,” Andrew said, then shrugged. “Or he might wait. Saddle up, cowboy. Let's see if you can keep up.”

“Keep up?” Neil said, frowning, but Andrew didn't wait for him to catch on and was off the ground in a flash.

The thing about flying was: it wasn't scary so long as you didn't look down.

Andrew let his broom do most of the work. It was built for racing, so Andrew let it race; it was tiresome to steer against a broom's nature, and Andrew had neither the willpower nor the magical prowess to do so for an extended period of time. He merely held tight and let the speed wash away the static of his thoughts, his face growing numb in the cold, using only the strength in his arms and legs to nudge the broom back on track if it veered too far off course. Dimly, he was aware of Neil trying to follow him, but the Foxtail just wasn't as fast. Once he realised this, though, Neil took a different route and kept cutting him off out of nowhere, a wild grin on his face when Andrew narrowly missed crashing into him by yanking his broom into an almost vertical dive. The muscles in Andrew's thighs protested at the strain and for a moment he caught sight of the ground rising up to meet him; his stomach dropped like a stone, but he snapped out of it in time to force his broom back up again.

When he had his bearings back, he looked around and nearly froze in shock once more as he saw Neil hurtling toward the ground. He pulled out of the dive effortlessly, though, then rolled sideways and upside down, whooping and delirious, and Andrew could barely take his eyes off him as he skipped and bounced on thin air like the fox his broom was named after.

Fuck, this kid was fearless. Andrew got a bit of a kick out of imagining what Neil would do on a broom like the Twilight. Before he could do something stupid and invite Neil to give it a try, he caught sight of Kevin's lone figure on the dark pitch below, and dropped into a measured dive to land next to him.

Coming down was always the shittiest part.

His feet hit the ground a little too hard, sending a jolt up his legs, and Andrew stumbled off his broom before it had come to proper halt. Breathing heavily, he went over to where Kevin was staring slack-jawed at Neil's distant figure, spiralling up into the sky, higher and higher like he wanted to challenge the elements themselves.

“Well,” Andrew told him, bracing an elbow on Kevin's shoulder and making him flinch at the contact, “looks like I've found you your new Seeker.”

“Fuck me,” Kevin said weakly, watching as Neil turned upside-down in mid-air again and let himself fall until it was almost too late to turn back around.

“No thanks,” Andrew said, still leaning on Kevin's shoulder. “You smell like sweaty Quaffle.”

Kevin made a noise in the back of his throat like a frog with pneumonia. A few feet away from them Neil gently floated himself down to the ground, dangling from his broom by his hands and feet, and let go when the grass was just brushing his back. He flopped to the ground with a soft _fhwump_ and a singular breathy laugh, and lay still.

Andrew gathered his wits first and gave a slow clap.

“Congratulations, you've just been promoted to Seeker of the Slytherin team. Come on, we're late for dinner, chop chop.”

Neil laughed like he thought Andrew was joking, but caught sight of Kevin when he pushed himself up on his elbows and froze. Kevin's face was the face of someone who had never made a joke in his life. Andrew rolled his eyes as understanding dawned on Neil and picked up both of their broomsticks to take them back to the shed while Kevin dealt with Neil.

He gave them ten minutes of furious debate before Neil gave in. When they came out after eight, Andrew sighed in disappointment.

“Junkie,” he told Neil, and snapped his fingers at them to follow him up to the castle for dinner.

*

“Andrew, King got into the common room again.”

Andrew sighed and threw down his quill. It was fucking impossible to get any homework done in the Hufflepuff dorms anyway, but Andrew had had to leave the library after he'd walked in on Aaron and Katelyn making out in the stacks and the weather was too hideous to even consider taking his work outside. Matt, still hopeful even after six years of sharing a dorm with Andrew, held out his hand for a high five as Andrew walked past and called out “next time, hey?” when Andrew ignored it, as always.

King was perched in one of the beanbag chairs dotted around the common room, surveying the students like they were her personnel hard at work. When she spotted Andrew, she picked her long legs out of the bag and stalked towards him with a questioning meow.

“If you're looking for Neil, you're in the wrong house,” Andrew told her tetchily and crossed his arms. King chirruped. “No, I most certainly do not have treats. Now scram.”

“I see you are having just as much luck talking to the ladies as I do.”

Andrew turned around to give Jeremy his best unamused stare, but Jeremy was one of those pesky people who had unfortunately, over the course of their Hogwarts career, become immune to it. King tried to melt his heart with her own patented _treeeeaaaats?_ face and was a lot more successful than Andrew, as Jeremy knelt down and pulled a napkin out of his pocket that he'd used to squirrel away bits of chicken in at lunch.

“This is why she keeps coming back,” Andrew told him. “This, and the fucking stuffed lion that Boyd knitted her.”

“Mm, I don't know, I think she's rather fond of that little castle Alvarez built out of cereal boxes,” Jeremy hummed, feeding the chicken to King, who was amenable to letting him stroke her head with one finger while she ate.

“You're all horrible,” Andrew said.

Jeremy shrugged and grinned up at him. “Minyard, you've got your strays, we've got ours – perils of being a Hufflepuff. Accept it and move on, you'll be much happier for it, I promise.”

“Don't promise what you can't keep,” Andrew snapped, and decided to go for a walk to get away from his stupid housemates. King, now finished with her chicken, licked her mouth and followed him at a safe distance – probably hoping he would lead her to Neil, but she was sorely mistaken about that and would find out soon enough.

However, it was Andrew who was mistaken this time, and he shot King a dirty glare when he stumbled upon Neil having a heated argument with a portrait on the third floor. The argument seemed to have moved from the actual topic of debate to slinging ugly insults at one another. Neil's expression cleared when Andrew coughed behind him and he turned around with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, Andrew, hello. And King! Hey, baby,” Neil crooned, sinking to his knees so King could nuzzle into his outstretched palm. Andrew had a debilitatingly awful moment of pretending Neil had greeted him with _hey, baby_ instead of the Kneazle, before viciously re-asserting control over his wayward thoughts and tearing his eyes away from where Neil's shirt was stretched taut over his curved backside.

He was suddenly sure he'd had a dream about this before, but he couldn't remember having written it down in his journal. Then again, if the dream had been half as humiliating as the real thing, he wouldn't have.

“I was just on my way to the library,” Neil said, scratching under King's chin. “Wymack said they have a subscription of Which Broomstick and Kevin won't stop nagging me about ordering one.”

“The library's compromised right now,” Andrew said grumpily. “Do it another day. It's more fun to make Kevin wait.”

“You think? I was under the impression he gets worse the longer you deny him,” Neil grinned.

“That's why it's fun,” Andrew agreed. The palms of his hands were itching to take Neil's and pull them away from the stupid Kneazle; to hold them cupped in his own and trace the blunt, aborted lines with his fingernails until they bloomed red. Last night, his tea leaves had mocked him for thinking he could want things; this morning, they'd been placating and tentatively hopeful. Tea leaves, as Bee said, were the most temperamental of the Divination arts and easily influenced by one's mood.

In short, tea leaves were full of shit.

Neil Hatford had death sticking to the soles of his shoes like toilet paper picked up from the floor of a public bathroom. There was no hope to be gained there, and Andrew was a fool for looking for it anyway.

“Do you want to come back to Slytherin with me? Jean's owl just brought sweets from France and Renee is making him share. Allison usually has coffee, too.”

“Whatever,” Andrew said.

They left the still fuming portrait behind, King winding around Neil's feet as they walked. Neil was wearing dark trousers and one of the soft blue shirts Andrew had picked out for him in Hogsmeade, the sleeves pulled down over his knuckles as he fiddled with them, and he looked more at peace than Andrew had seen him before. Flying was good for him, it seemed.

(Andrew could practically hear Nicky saying “a good fly is like a good shag, it leaves you boneless and just a little bit shaken” and had to pinch his own arm.)

Rain was lashing the building as they went down into the bowels of the castle. The noise dimmed in the dungeons but the lake beyond the windows was murky and restless, no curious underwater creatures in sight. The effect was claustrophobic, and it felt like it was much later than three o'clock. Andrew followed the gentle burble of Neil chatting with King, but there was something itching at the back of his mind the further down they went, and Andrew didn't recognise it for a vision until he had to stop at the end of a corridor because his left eye had temporarily blacked out and he'd lost feeling in one of his hands.

“Not now,” he muttered, pushing his thumb and middle finger hard into his temples to stave it off. The window across from him kept blurring out of focus and the pressure in his head was unbearable. He dimly registered that Neil was jogging back to see what was wrong, though he couldn't hear the words that Neil's mouth was forming. Then, abruptly, he was hurtling through the air above the Quidditch pitch through wet smudges of green and yellow, his goal hoops abandoned behind him, and Neil was falling, too fast for Andrew to reach him in time – a flash of gold, the roar of the crowd – the scabbed, rotting arms of a Dementor – a woman's high-pitched laugh – next he was in the lake itself, thrashing in the stormy water, weeds pulling tight around his ankles and sucking him under.

When he came to, something soft was patting his cheek. He opened his eyes to see King crouched beside his head which was, like the rest of him, on the floor. Andrew's throat clicked as he swallowed – at least he hadn't thrown up. Yet.

“Shit, are you okay?”

Neil leaned over him, on his knees beside King. Andrew grunted, which he hoped was enough of a response to get them both off his back, but Neil still looked worried.

“You just had a vision, didn't you?” he asked quietly. “Do you need me to get someone? Dobson, or the nurse, or...?”

“No,” Andrew croaked, willing his arms to push him up into some semblance of a sitting position. He ached all over. His grandmother had assured him that it wouldn't always be like this, that the visions were especially frequent and potent in puberty when his body was still adjusting to his power but that he would learn to control them over time, and mostly it would just be like zoning out for a bit. Andrew had survived mood swings, his voice breaking, bad skin, first time shaving disasters, the ugliest glasses in the whole universe, awkward growth spurts in places that really didn't need them, fumbling first snogs behind the greenhouses, the excruciating sight of his twin brother embarrassing himself on the dance floor of a Muggle club Nicky had once sneaked them into; and the social stigma of not having a partner for the Yule ball in his fifth year. He was almost eighteen but so far, having a vision was just as awful as it had been when he'd been five years old and the Muggle doctors had diagnosed him with epilepsy – because for all intents and purposes, it looked like he was having seizures out of the blue.

He didn't have very fond memories of going to school wearing his ugly crash helmet in case of fits, so he supposed at least that was an upgrade.

“Katelyn said something like this happened in Divination class last week,” Neil said. “Are you sure you don't need anything? My mum sometimes gets a migraine before she has one... Maybe you need to lie down for a bit?”

Andrew looked at him blankly.

“When did you talk to Katelyn?”

“We have Arithmancy together,” Neil shrugged. “I didn't know anyone else in that class and she said I could sit with her.”

“Fucking – of course,” Andrew ground out. Everyone was trying to aggravate him today. He pulled himself up on the rough brick wall, staggered a little, and only just kept himself from accidentally treading on King's tail by grabbing a hold of Neil's shoulder for a moment.

“Hey,” Neil said, “easy.”

Andrew let go of him as if burned.

“I need some sugar,” he announced, breathing hard through the words, and Neil nodded and slowly led the way around the corner and down a last flight of steps until they reached the Slytherin quarters. Neil said “Wronski Feint,” which was probably Kevin's doing since he was Prefect and therefore on the rota for choosing the password. Andrew had been guessing his passwords since second year, because they were always Quidditch-related, but Kevin didn't listen when Andrew told him he had to change it up or sooner or later some rabid fangirl or -boy would break into the Slytherin dorms at night and steal a pair of Kevin's used underpants.

The wizard in the portrait nodded sleepily at them and walked out of his frame, leaving behind an ordinary door that swung inward. Andrew followed Neil inside and collapsed messily onto the nearest sofa. He was shivering despite the fire. Neil went over to where Jean was sitting with some of his housemates, exchanged a few words with them, and came back with a handful of macarons and a cashmere blanket for Andrew.

“Aw, looking after your boyfriend, Wesninski?”

“Fuck off, Seth,” Neil said, eyes narrowing. Seth shrugged exaggeratedly.

“I'm just warning you, kid. Minyard's a poof. I wouldn't want to share a dorm with him, personally, but I reckon the Hufflepuffs are all bent anyway.”

Andrew looked at the churning lake water outside the window and felt like drowning. Neil sighed, put the macarons down on the table and dropped the blanket on Andrew's legs, then went over to Seth's spot and kept walking until he was right up in his space. It was a sight to behold – Neil barely reached up to Seth's heavy biceps.

“You know, I wouldn't worry about that if I were you,” Neil began. “Your face is so ugly, it looks like a cannibal threw up their last meal. Not even the nicest Hufflepuff would want to touch you with the tip of their wand. You should be so lucky if Andrew even looked twice at you.”

The rest of the common room had fallen rather silent, and Andrew kept his eyes fixed on a strip of seaweed floating past the window.

“Oho,” Seth crowed, incensed by the audience. His voice was grating and impossible to tune out. “Did I just hear that right? Does ickle Wesninski junior have a crush on our resident nancy boy? Man, you're both so tiny, I can't even decide who of you would top.”

“Must be one of your favourite fantasies, I'm sure,” Neil shot back lazily. “I guess it's hard, being so gross and unpleasant that no one wants to be around you, let alone date you. I get it, you know. It was pretty lonely on my father's estate. But he had this giant library full of books on the Dark Arts, so I just practised whichever curses sounded the most fun whenever I got bored. There was one – called the Medusa curse – very handy for getting rid of greasy hair, maybe you should try it some time. Bit unfortunate that it replaces the hair with venomous snakes but hey, you're always so proud to be a Slytherin, and you're so vile they might not even want to bite you...”

Seth – always easily provoked – drew his wand with a roar, but Neil was faster. The hex Seth had been about to cast bounced off the ceiling and showered a nearby group of girls in harmless sparks, while Seth was howling under the onslaught of Neil's vicious Bat-Bogey Hex, and the common room erupted in nervous laughter. Kevin, who had been upstairs in the dorms, came thundering down the stairs and snapped at the room to quiet down; he was trying to  _study_ , and killed everyone's fun by lashing a Finite at Seth.

“I'll make you fucking regret that, Wesninski,” Seth panted, hands on his knees and eyes bulging with hate.

“Get it together,” Kevin snapped at him, his Prefect badge flashing sharply in the light. “Both of you. If the professors get wind of fighting in the common room, they're going to punish all of us. Gordon, we can't afford you being banned from the team, Wymack already gave you a last warning. Neil, I expect better from my players.”

“Pull your head out of your arse, Kevin, there's not enough space in there next to your broomstick,” Allison called over from where she was sequestered in a cluster of armchairs with Renee and a few other girls. “He deserved it.”

“I don't care,” Kevin seethed. “I won't have you compromising the team just because you can't control your tempers. Neil could go pro after school if he just puts in the effort this year. Whatever it is, it's not worth ruining your career over. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a History essay to complete.”

Slowly, people returned to their own conversations. Seth left the common room in a huff, although not without poking his index finger at Neil in wordless warning again. Neil, who had seemed unfazed by Kevin's rant, now looked thoughtful, his fingers drumming absently on the side of his thigh.

“High praise from Kevin Day,” Andrew mocked where he was still sprawled on the sofa. He picked out a cinnamon macaron and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, barely tasting anything before swallowing it and chasing it down with another. “Well, thanks very much for defending my non-existent honour but keep it in your pants next time, shining knight. We don't want to give Kevin an apoplexy if you do get yourself kicked off the team before you've even played your first game.”

“He was being a dick,” Neil muttered, folding himself cross-legged on the floor next to Andrew's couch. He picked one of the macarons at random, took a bite and looked vaguely disgusted, then kept eating until Andrew took his third one out of his hand and ate it himself. If he wasn't going to appreciate them, he had no business eating them where Andrew could see.

“I don't mind if you're gay,” Neil said abruptly, frowning and fidgeting with the corner of Andrew's blanket. Andrew felt a brief flash of frustration that his visions never warned him of impending awkward conversations – that would have been so much more useful than seeing death omens everywhere and vomiting up his meals at every turn.

“What do you want, a honking great gold star to stick in your diary?” Andrew asked.

Neil hummed. “No, just wanted to let you know. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Gay,” Neil said with a shrug. A group of sixth years walked past them, whispering and exchanging looks, and Andrew sighed.

“Yes. Very. Now get me more macarons, and some of that coffee.”

Well. At least Neil didn't have trouble following orders, Andrew thought as he watched Neil's back on his way over to Jean's table. And the macarons really were good.

 


	3. Death and the Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katelyn is helpful, Renee gets a nice birthday party, Jean is good with tarot cards, Neil is newly popular with the girls, and the first Quidditch match of the season takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief mention of disordered eating, more visions, mention of past child neglect and bullying, panic attack
> 
> Thanks again for all the nice comments!! And to my beta Janie for all her helpful comments <3

 On Monday, Katelyn sat next to Andrew in Potions and slapped another of her small glass vials on the table between them.

“This is a modified version of Dreamless Sleep,” she said, tapping the cork with her finger. Her nails were painted bronze today, with only the little fingers left in baby blue, and Andrew had to snort at the quaint show of house pride. “I talked to Abby about it, and she got it directly from one of the Potioneers at St. Mungo's. It's currently being tested as a supplementary treatment for paranoid schizophrenia to alleviate psychotic episodes, but they've had some positive trials in the context of other conditions and I think it might help with the crystal gazing.”

Andrew stared at Katelyn's immaculate finger on the vial.

“I know it's a bit unusual,” Katelyn continued. “Seers usually take belladonna or even pixie dust and mushrooms to make their visions more powerful, but... I think you've already got that covered, so I looked into how to achieve the opposite effect. It won't shut them down completely, but if we get the dosage right they might become a little less... violent. I'd also advise you to take some ginger root before the lessons, to stabilise your stomach.”

“Why,” Andrew said, finally looking up at her soft, round face. She was pretty, more so now that her acne had cleared and she'd stopped trying to starve herself at meals, but Andrew had never been able to see what Aaron saw in her. He thought he might be catching a glimpse of it now, though; fierce determination shining through the layer of make-up on her face, her eyes steady and calculating.

“Because you're family,” Katelyn told him mercilessly. Then a smile dug a pair of mischievous dimples into her cheeks and she added: “Or you will be, anyway, once I ask Aaron to marry me after graduation. Think about it, okay? I can get you more if it works.”

She pushed the vial closer to him and left it on the table, then got up and went back to her seat next to a bubbly Hufflepuff girl who was busy neatly arranging her Potions equipment around her. Andrew squinted at the vial that sat next to his empty cauldron, and slipped it into his pocket before getting out his own things.

At lunch, Andrew didn't feel like talking to anyone, so he found a quiet spot at the very back of the Slytherin table and started cutting his baked pumpkin into small pieces with his Ancient Runes textbook propped up against a jug. He was half a paragraph into the chapter when Jean slid into the seat opposite him and proceeded to tear a slice of bread to shreds in his hands.

“What,” Andrew growled, fork halfway to his mouth.

Jean glanced furtively around him, then leaned over the table and murmured: “It's Renee's birthday tomorrow.”

Andrew waited, chewing aggressively.

“I want to do something nice for her,” Jean continued quietly. His French accent got more pronounced and he talked faster when he was nervous. “I don't have any money and Allison is planning something and I don't want to interfere.”

Andrew made a show of looking at the empty seats to their left and right, then pointed at his chest.

“Are you talking to me or to yourself?”

“You are her friend,” Jean said solemnly, still blissfully unaware of how much Andrew didn't care about his problems. He pursed his lips. “You know her well. I thought...”

“You thought wrong,” Andrew said, hacking at a piece of pumpkin with the side of his fork. This was the second time today that someone had started talking to him uninvited, and it was exhausting. When he looked up, he caught Neil's eye as he approached the Slytherin table with his bag slung over his shoulder, and before Andrew could look away and pretend he hadn't seen him, Neil waved and made a beeline for them.

“Your new puppy dog,” Jean said drily, and Andrew remembered that he was still there. With a sigh, Andrew pushed his half-eaten meal away, a sad mess of mashed pumpkin and salad that he had separated into neat piles of greens and vegetables on the side of the plate.

“Why don't you ask Allison what she's planning,” Andrew grumbled, hyper-aware of Neil walking towards them.

“She will not tell me,” Jean said with a dark look.

“It's probably a party,” Andrew said. “It's always a party.”

Jean brightened up visibly. “Ah, that means Renee will be free in the afternoon?”

Andrew shrugged and tried not to look too eager when Neil pulled out the chair next to him and dropped into it, wiping damp hair out of his eyes with his sleeve. He smelled like the forest and had probably become distracted talking to Hernandez after class again.

“Hey, what are you doing all the way down here? Is Kevin not around?” Neil asked. He strained in his seat to search the Slytherin table for Kevin, who was arguing strategy for the first Quidditch match of the season with Allison and Thea. Jean looked between Andrew and Neil, abandoned his shredded bread, and stood up.

“See you at practice,” he told Neil, who hummed and piled food on his plate like a starving man. Andrew found a bowl of fruit and grumpily picked out all the blueberries, as there was no other option for dessert today, while Neil crammed food into his mouth at record speed.

“Are you looking forward to the match?” Neil asked. “Kevin is really pissing his pants about playing you guys.”

“That's because he has a crush on Jeremy,” Andrew said idly. Neil laughed and stole some of his blueberries before Andrew ate them all.

“No, he seems to think you're the problem. Did they really not have a Seeker all last year?”

Andrew made a dismissive noise and threw a blueberry at Neil.

“No one was good enough for Queen Day after Riko left, so their strategy was to net enough goals that they'd still win by points when the opposing team caught the Snitch. Naturally, they came in last.”

“They had a win and an almost-draw,” Neil said, and stuck the blueberry in his mouth. “That's quite impressive.”

“Not in Kevin's books,” Andrew said. He didn't mention that Slytherin had lost spectacularly against Hufflepuff in the end, which had cost them the Cup for the first time in three years.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Riko?”

Andrew drummed his fingers against the table, chin in hand, and looked at the overcast ceiling. He'd dreamt about thunderstorms last night.

“What will you trade me?”

“What do you want?” Neil asked, easy and comfortable, and Andrew wondered when people had stopped being afraid of him.

“Your father's execution,” Andrew said, and felt more than saw the way Neil tensed up next to him. “Are you going to be there?”

“Um. Yes,” Neil muttered. “It's in November.”

“Take me with you,” Andrew demanded. He'd seen it over and over again in his dreams, his visions; it made sense for him to go. Besides, from the way Neil went pale and quiet every time he mentioned it, it was obvious that he wasn't coping well on his own. Maybe Andrew could provide some support in exchange for closure, or at least understanding. In his first one-on-one lesson with Bee, she had explained how the term _Medium_ was misleading – Seers weren't just vessels for the future to pass through, they were junction points where the future intersected with the past and the present. As such, they were always connected to the events they foresaw. Bee had gone on to explain how it could be both a burden and a chance to be able to shape the future in this way, and Andrew had said “with great power comes great responsibility” with a very deadpan face. The fact that Bee had recognised it for a Spiderman quote and laughed had been one of the major factors in him growing to accept her as a mentor.

“Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Morbid curiosity?”

Neil scrunched up his face and stole Andrew's last blueberry. “Fine. If you still want to in November, you can come.”

Renee's birthday fell on a Saturday, and true to Andrew's prediction Allison threw her a party in the Slytherin common room. Allison had a special knack for smuggling alcoholic drinks into the school without the professors catching wind of it, which was one of the reasons why her parties were always popular, and she'd decorated the room with delicate paper flowers in shades of yellow, orange and lilac. Paired with the dimmed lights and the lake beyond the windows, they gave the common room the impression of an underwater grotto. Matt was in charge of the music, Dan and Katelyn had organised snacks, and Andrew added a bottle of Firewhisky to the drinks table before finding Renee by one of the fireplaces and tossing his present at her. Renee, as always, looked pleasantly surprised at his presence and he let her pull him down into a quick one-armed hug before sliding into the armchair next to her.

“It's lovely, Andrew,” she said, holding the amulet up into the light. “Thank you.”

She slipped the cord over her head, patted it into place, and carefully folded the wrapping paper in her lap before taking a sip of her drink. Jean was lurking nearby, trying not to look spooked by all the people milling about, and Andrew found Allison doing shots with Dan, Thea and Katelyn in a corner; yelling out toasts to the birthday girl.

“So,” Andrew said conversationally, “which one are you going to pick? Jean or Allison?”

Renee looked at him with steady eyes and smoothed her hands over the crinkled wrapping paper again.

“Neither,” she said evenly. “I don't want a relationship right now, Jean isn't ready for one, and I don't trust Allison to mean it – not yet, anyway.”

“And when you do, and he is, and she does?” Andrew prodded, moving his finger in time with the words like a metronome.

Renee smiled, one jagged canine showing.

“You know better than me that I can't possibly make a decision before its time is due. Who knows where we'll all be in a year, anyway? This is our seventh year.”

Andrew grunted. He still couldn't imagine life after graduation – for the people in this room, yes, even for Aaron and Kevin – but for himself? Everything was blank.

What a great Seer he made.

“What about you?” Renee asked, nudging him with her foot. “You seem quite preoccupied with our newest adoptee.”

Andrew made an abortive gesture and stole a mouthful of Renee's drink. It was disappointingly non-alcoholic, but at least it was sweet.

“He's upstairs in the dorm, if you want to talk to him,” Renee grinned. “Something about a broomstick and getting Kevin off his back.”

She got up, leaving the rest of her drink in Andrew's hands, and was promptly whisked away to dance by Allison and Dan. Andrew remained slouched in his armchair and watched the party, sipping his drink and mentally composing his next letter to his grandmother, until his legs felt too itchy and his glass was empty. He made a detour on his way to the stairs so he wouldn't have to pass Aaron and Katelyn, who were shamelessly making out on a sofa, and picked up a bowl of blueberries from the snack table before climbing up to the dorms.

Neil was spread out on a bed with several magazines, chewing on the end of a quill. He looked up when Andrew knocked on the open door.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he groaned, tossing his quill down on a sheet of parchment that held more ink splotches and sketches than actual notes. He was lying on his stomach, and Andrew had a hard time not looking at the way his sweatpants clung to his arse. “Kevin won't stop bugging me about ordering a broom and I can't decide. Help me?”

Andrew thrust the bowl of blueberries at him and climbed onto the bed next to Neil, mirroring his pose. He pulled Neil's notes to him, scratched out three of the brooms listed, added a few notes to the others, and pushed it back at him before idly thumbing through one of the magazines. The middle spread was devoted to a picture of Riko draped over an armchair with his uncle Tetsuji towering imperially behind him, the corresponding article speculating heavily on which national Quidditch team he would be signed on to after school.

The official reasoning behind his abrupt transfer to Durmstrang was still that he wanted a more challenging training regime than Hogwarts had to offer.

“Right,” Neil said, writing down the names of the three remaining brooms on his list onto three scraps of parchment. He folded them up, shook them in his cupped hands, and dropped them on the duvet. “I'm just going to pick one and go with that.”

He looked dubiously at the slips of parchment, fingers hovering above each of them in turn. Bored with his indecisiveness, Andrew grabbed his hand and directed it to the slip closest to him. Neil's skin felt warm and smooth under his fingertips.

“Hmm,” Neil said as he unfolded the parchment, “good choice. I did like the feel of that Foxtail. Hey, what form does your Patronus take? Mine's a fox, seems fitting, huh?”

He seemed really pleased about the coincidence, and Andrew rolled his eyes at him and took his time gathering all the magazines into a neat pile and sweeping the bits of parchment off the bed. Neil had eaten all the blueberries, so he grabbed the bowl and put it safely on the floor before Neil could knock it over with his excitable elbows.

Andrew was spared having to answer when Katelyn stuck her head through the open door, Jean trailing uncomfortably behind her.

“There you are! We thought you'd left,” she chirped. Unfortunately, she wasn't content just with finding him and insisted on plonking herself and Jean down on the bed next to Neil's, her hair bouncing with the movement. “Things were getting a little rowdy downstairs, so Jean was going to show me his new tarot cards.”

She nudged him with her elbow, and Jean started and scurried over to his suitcase to retrieve the cards. He looked relieved at having been given an excuse to leave the party, though Andrew wondered how Aaron felt about his girlfriend disappearing in the boys' dorms with another guy when they'd been snogging just a few minutes earlier.

He hoped they'd had a fight.

“I can do a spread for you, if you like,” Jean offered stiffly, and Katelyn smiled.

“That's very kind of you, Jean. Why don't we all take a card?”

Jean's eyes flickered over to Neil and Andrew, who shrugged. Taking this as acquiescence Jean carefully shuffled his cards, then scooted back on the bed so he could spread them out in a semi-circle in front of Katelyn. She held her palm over the cards, deliberating, and ended up picking one from the middle. She flipped it over and held it up.

“Queen of Cups,” Jean murmured. “You are looking after everyone else. Be mindful of your boundaries.”

Katelyn's initial pleased smile at the card got lost in surprise. She wiped her thumb over the fierce woman depicted on the card, then put it back into the deck and looked pensive while Jean shuffled anew. He turned to Neil next, fanning the cards out in front of him, and Neil snatched up a card the second Jean had removed his hand.

“Death,” Jean said when Neil flipped it over to show him. “Transition. Close a door and open another.”

Neil looked amused more than anything, but nodded and put his card back. Again, Jean shuffled them and fanned them out for Andrew to pick one.

“Do I have to?” Andrew sighed.

“Oh, go on,” Katelyn grinned, then dropped her voice down to a stage whisper. “Remember third year, Jean? When he got the Lovers and Professor Dobson had to send him to her office to calm down?”

Andrew threw her an unimpressed look and slid one of the cards out of their arc with the tip of his thumb. It was an unfortunate side effect of attending the same school for more than one year that the people you spent your time with had also been around during your less graceful moments of teenage awkwardness and were more than happy to bring them up at any possible opportunity.

He handed the card over to Jean without looking, and Jean stared at it for a long moment with a deadpan expression.

He turned it over.

“The Lovers,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching for a second before he wrangled it back under control. Katelyn let out a shriek of laughter and clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes shining with mirth.

“Of fucking course,” Andrew sighed. “Don't tell me. I am at a metaphorical crossroads and need to – what was it? Reassert my personal belief system. Take the moral high ground. A dilemma?”

He waved his hand, and Jean gathered up his cards and put the Lovers on top of the stack.

“Well, yes. Alternatively, it can indicate a very strong bond, not necessarily sexual -”

“But it _could_ be sexual,” Katelyn smirked, undeterred by Andrew's glare.

“More like a soul mate,” Jean continued with a frown. “Someone who gives you strength to do what is necessary and make the right choices.”

“Great,” Andrew said, “when you've decided which one it is, can you send them my way? I want to disabuse them of that notion before they get their hopes up.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Andrew,” Katelyn chided. “If you're half as good in bed as your brother, that person is in for a real treat.”

“Can't hear you, must be Nargles in here,” Andrew said loudly, waving his arms around like he was chasing off invisible creatures, and Katelyn laughed her rare dirty laugh; then caught sight of the magazines stacked on Neil's bedside table.

“Ooh, Quidditch stuff. How are you settling in? Have you got a broom yet?” she asked Neil, who opened his mouth to reply but found himself cut off by Jean.

“Don't tell her anything, she is just spying for the Ravenclaws. Katelyn is the team captain.”

“Did someone say Quidditch?”

Allison came in with Renee, Dan and Seth in tow. Seth was eyeing her low-cut dress with interest, but scrunched up his face when he saw who was already in the room and went off to fetch more alcohol out of his trunk.

“Did you know that if you say broomstick three times in a row very fast, Kevin Day will pop up and ramble about the historical boner he has for Jocunda Sykes?” Allison said, throwing herself on the bed next to Katelyn. Her dress was so short it barely covered her arse when she sat, and Seth didn't even attempt to hide his ogling anymore as he leaned against the window sill with crossed arms.

“I was just asking Neil how he likes playing for the losing side,” Katelyn smirked.

“Not anymore,” Allison sang. “The Hufflepuffs better start polishing up that Cup so it looks nice and shiny when they hand it over to us at the end of this year.”

“Who's your favourite professional team, Neil?” Dan asked, squeezing herself in beside Jean, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable at having so many people on his bed. Renee perched beside Andrew and flashed him a quick smile.

“The Harpies,” Neil said with a bashful grin. Katelyn and Allison whooped, though Seth snorted disdainfully from his position at the window.

“An all-girls team,” he scoffed. “Figures.”

Neil scowled. “Some of the strongest people I know are women,” he insisted clumsily.

“Seth, darling, do I really have to remind you that the Harpies are currently third in the league?” Allison drawled, draping her long legs over Katelyn's lap. “Did you forget that they completely thrashed the Falcons last year, _your_ favourite team might I add, historically an all-boys club and – oh, right now only in sixth place, I believe?”

Seth muttered darkly under his breath and turned back to his trunk.

Satisfied, Allison pulled the hair tie from the end of her plait and started to unravel it. “Neil, babe,” she said, batting her magically elongated eyelashes at him, “you have excellent judgement. I can get you fan merch at a reduced price, if you need anything – I happen to be on very good terms with the Harpies' manager.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Neil said. “I don't really have anything. I've only ever been to one game.”

“Well, that's not on,” Katelyn said. “Allison, we need to take him with us next time we go. Harpies games are a revelation.”

The girls got distracted reminiscing about a game Matt's mum had taken them all to in fourth year, when the Harpies had played Dan's favourite team, the Appleby Arrows. Seth skulked back to the party which was still in full swing downstairs, Jean tried to pretend he didn't exist, and Neil turned to Andrew with a smile.

“What about you?”

Andrew gave a non-committal grunt, and Neil bumped their shoulders together playfully.

“Come on, everyone has a favourite team.”

“I don't,” Andrew said, bored with all the Quidditch talk. Neil looked disappointed.

“You'll just have to support the Harpies by proxy, then. I'm sure you'll look great in green and pink,” he grinned. Andrew let his eyes slide over Neil's face, then looked back stoically ahead.

“Unlike you,” he said. “The pink will really clash with your hair.”

Neil hummed and pulled at a strand of his dark auburn hair. “Suppose so. Hey, Allison, can you get me a Harpies t-shirt?”

“Sure thing, pup,” Allison crooned back and threw him a kiss.

Andrew sighed, and decided to get himself a glass of Firewhisky downstairs.

*

The restless weather of September finally settled into a crisp, bright October. Almost over night the Forbidden Forest lit up in yellow and gold, and the grounds smelled like woodsmoke and wet earth. True to her word, Allison gave Neil a Harpies t-shirt in blazing pink with the players' names and nicknames on the back and a black and white print on the front that looked like a Muggle roller derby ad. It clashed horribly with Neil's hair just as Andrew had predicted, as well as with the autumnal shades of the foliage and the grounds, but Neil wore it with pride and shot Seth's derogatory comments down without batting an eye.

Andrew had been spared another session with the crystal balls the week before Renee's birthday, because Bee had rescheduled her lessons to account for a meteor shower. They'd gone up to the Astronomy tower at night and worked on their star charts while Bee had helped Renee brew a special potion for scrying that was sensitive to the subtle changes of magic in the air that occurred during a meteor shower. This week, though, they were back in Bee's office on Wednesday, and Andrew fiddled irritably with the vial Katelyn had given him.

“What do you think?” he asked Bee in the minutes before the others showed up to class and placed the vial on her desk. Sunlight glinted off the glass, interfering with the pattern of light reflecting off Bee's carefully arranged figurines. The crystal balls, in contrast, seemed to swallow whatever light touched them, and Andrew felt sick just sitting there.

“I think it can't hurt to give it a go,” Bee said. “I talked to Abby, and it seems to be a rather low dose without the soporific effects that a classic Dreamless Sleep has. I can ask her to come and monitor you, if you are worried about side effects.”

“No,” Andrew said, “I'm not worried.”

He stared at the vial for the rest of the time, and Bee left him in peace.

Once everyone was seated and Bee began with the meditation Andrew quickly grabbed the vial, broke the seal and yanked out the cork. He swallowed its contents so quickly he barely tasted them. Something vaguely sweet clung to the inside of his mouth and he ran his tongue over his teeth, chasing it. Emptying his mind for the meditation felt a little easier after, though that might have just been a placebo effect. Andrew didn't feel any more eager to start crystal gazing than usual, but the gnarled web of dread in his stomach was a bit tidier, and he tucked it away and bent over his crystal ball.

There was nothing for a long time, so long that Andrew's legs started to itch with impatience, but when the vision slopped up from the depths of the ball – thick and sluggish and unwilling – it felt just as skin-crawlingly repulsive to him as always.

Confusingly, the vision started on the dregs of things past, seizing memories from Andrew's brain and burrowing its roots into the soil of his childhood. Unnerved, Andrew watched one of his former foster mothers slap his hand away when he reached for her, though he didn't feel the sting of rejection anymore. He was just as numb as the children in his new school laughed at his ugly glasses and hand-me-down clothes; as another child threw his book bag in a rubbish container that was too tall for him to reach; as his foster siblings dug into a pile of Christmas presents and Andrew got yelled at for abandoning his post in the kitchen; as, once again, his outstretched hand was refused the one time he had tried to make a friend after class in the library.

It was fucking miserable, Andrew thought, detached – and then he looked down and saw his hand curl around another hand, holding on for dear life.

“Thank you,” Neil said, lying on a hospital bed. “You were amazing.”

He lifted Andrew's hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss between two knuckles. Startled at the hot feel of Neil's lips on his skin, Andrew jerked back – and toppled his chair over. He landed painfully on the floor of Bee's office, gasping for breath and blinking until the black spots receded from his vision.

“Oh dear,” Katelyn said, bending over him. She held her hair back with one hand. “Maybe the dose wasn't quite right, after all. At least you haven't thrown up yet.”

Andrew swore under his breath and ignored her hand in favour of pulling himself back to his feet on his own. It wasn't very graceful, but once he was standing he felt only a mild dizziness that was quickly fading. The spot where Neil had kissed his knuckles in the vision was once again cool and dry.

“Okay?” Katelyn asked, scrutinising him. Renee and Jean had abandoned their crystal balls as well, and Bee was calmly making tea for all of them.

Andrew looked at his hand, which was trembling slightly, then turned on his heel and ran.

*

“You are such a drama queen, Minyard.”

Katelyn found him sulking in a hidden passageway after dinner, carving obscenities into the walls with his pocket knife. She sank down next to him, handed over a cup of tea – thankfully without leaves – and a napkin bundle of still-warm mushroom and sweet potato pastries. Andrew wiped his knife on his robes, stabbed it into one of the pastries, and took a small bite. His stomach was growling.

“Are you going to talk about it?” Katelyn asked after he had slowly demolished his first pastry.

Andrew picked up the Potions book next to him and tossed it at her in response. He kept eating as Katelyn opened it to the first place he'd bookmarked and scanned the page and his scribbled notes in the margins, frowning because he'd used ink rather than pencil. Ridiculous, Andrew thought, she was a proper witch after all, she could vanish it without breaking a sweat if she really cared.

“Hm,” she said when she was finished, “you might have a point about the asphodel. I'll talk to Abby about it.”

She closed the book, laid it on the floor between them, and motioned for Andrew to drink his tea. It was overbrewed and she hadn't added any sugar or milk, and Andrew made a face at the bitter taste.

“You know, you would have fit in really well in Ravenclaw,” Katelyn said conversationally. “I mean, sometimes you're really dumb, but that's boys for you. We'd be an all-girls house if Rowena Ravenclaw hadn't accounted for that fact.”

“If I'm so dumb, why do you bother?” Andrew asked, long-suffering. Alright, so she'd brought him food. If only she would leave him alone now to sulk and think about Neil Hatford in peace.

“It's entertaining,” Katelyn grinned. “Besides, you're going to be my brother-in-law soon. If I don't make an effort to befriend you, you won't know what to get us as a wedding present and end up embarrassing us and yourself. You should invite Neil as your plus one, by the way, I've seen the way you look at him. He has nice thighs, doesn't he?”

“Oh no,” Andrew said flatly, “I actually have a very important thing on the day of the wedding. The entire week, in fact. I can't possibly come.”

“That's funny, I don't recall giving you a date yet,” Katelyn mused, tapping her chin. “What do you think of a Quidditch-themed wedding? We could get married on brooms and have a scrimmage after, bride against groom. Want to be on my team?”

“I never want to be on anyone's team,” Andrew sighed.

“Of course, you'd rather sit and watch Neil's thighs in action,” Katelyn teased. “How come you're not at the Slytherin practice tonight, hm? Are you avoiding him?”

“Are we done?” Andrew asked. “I have to go and do nothing somewhere else.”

He threw the balled-up napkin on the ground and stood up, tucking the book back in his bag. Katelyn watched him, her head tipped to the side.

“Andrew,” she called after him just as he was about to lift the tapestry aside. “I'm glad you want to give the potion another go. Come to my birthday party, will you?” She grinned. “I promise I won't spend _all_ of it snogging your brother.”

He made a face at her and let the tapestry swing shut behind him.

*****

“Hi, Neil.”

“Hi, Neil!”

The two girls walked on, giggling and clutching at each other, and Andrew glared at their retreating backs. Ever since it had come out that Kevin had recruited Neil as the long-awaited Seeker for the Slytherin team Neil had become publicly interesting all over again, though for altogether different reasons than having a father in Azkaban who was awaiting his Dementor's Kiss and a mother who belonged to one of the most renowned clairvoyant families in the country. Neil, for his part, seemed mostly immune to this new type of attention and was blissfully oblivious to all the hungry stares he received in the corridors.

“They're flirting with you,” Andrew told him irritably. It made no sense to him – Neil had been shut away with no one but house elves and tutors for company most of his life. Even Andrew, who hated people, would have jumped at the opportunity had he been half as popular with the boys as Neil was with the girls – but Neil seemed as unaffected by his hormones as Andrew was by girls.

He'd had the vision again – the one of him and Neil holding hands – but he refused to think about what it meant. Sometimes visions were metaphorical. If Neil was gay, surely he'd have said something after Seth had outed Andrew to him?

“Oh,” Neil said, looking up from where he was sorting through his Arithmancy notes. They were a mess of creased parchment, inky doodles, and completely illegible handwriting. Andrew wondered how he got any homework done at all. “How can you tell? They were just saying hello.”

Andrew looked for a trace of sarcasm, but it was an earnest question. Their first Quidditch match of the season was coming up fast, and Neil spent most of his free time on the pitch in extra training sessions with Kevin when he wasn't helping Hernandez with the Occamies. He had dark circles under his eyes and, now that Andrew thought about it, probably no time to even think about dating anyone.

He relaxed a little and leaned back on the bench they were seated on, shading his eyes against the smouldering October sun.

“Why would they be saying hello if they've never spoken to you before?” Andrew said. “Also, their body language and the, you know. Giggling.”

He waved his hand about and Neil laughed.

“Okay,” he said, “but girls giggle all the time. That can't possibly be a reliable indicator.”

“I wouldn't know,” Andrew muttered, “I'm not a girl, and I'm not interested in them.”

“Well, I'm not interested in them like that either,” Neil said, and Andrew's stomach scrunched up uncomfortably. He felt hot with hope and cold with terror, and his mouth was abruptly dry.

“No?” he asked conversationally. Neil shook his head.

“I'm not really interested in anyone. At least, I've never met anyone I was – attracted to, like that. But then, most of the people I used to meet were business associates of my father and a lot older than me. So I don't really know what I like.”

He shrugged, like he didn't particularly care either, but Andrew still felt hot and cold and wished his hands would stop sweating. It wasn't a definite no. It wasn't a yes, either, though, and since it was statistically more likely that Neil would one day discover that he was attracted to a girl, it was really stupid to get worked up about it now.

Furiously, Andrew saw that he had shredded the remains of his sandwich beyond recognition, and brushed the crumbs onto the ground for the birds.

The day of the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match dawned bright and clear. Andrew wasn't nervous, and made a point of smothering his porridge in butter and cream while the rest of his teammates looked faintly nauseous around him. Jeremy buzzed with nervous energy and kept up a stream of idle chatter until it was time to head down to the pitch, where he ushered them into the changing rooms and started on his usual motivational speech before he'd even finished untying his own shoelaces. Alvarez swatted the back of his head and told him to sit the fuck down and save it for later.

“Team hugs!” Matt bellowed when they were all more or less dressed. Andrew, who had tried everything from showing up late to hiding in the showers, had resigned himself to this particular Hufflepuff grossness and let Jeremy pull him into the pile with one arm around his shoulders. At least his Keeper's uniform was well-padded and he didn't have to feel it too much.

“Remember,” Jeremy said into their huddle, “keep it clean, have a good time and give your best; but if anyone dares to underestimate you for being a Hufflepuff, give them _hell_.”

“Yes, Captain!” the others yelled, and Andrew winced at the volume. Finally, they were ready to go, and Jeremy led them out onto the lawn to cheers from the spectators. The stands were packed, the weather so fine Andrew was going to be sweating in his uniform within minutes, and when they went to shake the opposing team's hands Kevin actually looked like he was going to throw up on Jeremy with nerves.

Neil waved cheerily at Andrew, then pointed at the Hufflepuff team and mimed crushing something in his hands. Andrew rolled his eyes, and Neil grinned and stuck out his tongue at him.

Andrew was briefly distracted thinking about where else he would have liked that tongue, and nearly missed Wymack blowing his whistle to make them mount their brooms.

The game kicked off hard and fast. Andrew found himself vexingly busy in goal for the first half and could barely spare a glance at Neil's distant figure circling high above the pitch. He easily outstripped Alvarez on his new broom just to show off, and the two had a playful race when the Snitch failed to make even a single appearance in the first half hour. Hufflepuff was leading in goals and Kevin shouted himself hoarse at his Chasers when they dismounted for the break. Jean was yelling back, and it took Renee and Allison to pull them both apart. Breathing hard but feeling rather pleased with himself for shutting down the goal and making Kevin lose his head like that, Andrew chugged water and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a towel. He could already feel the skin on his face starting to burn in the sun.

Second half began a little better for the Slytherins with Jean finally getting a goal past Andrew, and Neil got to demonstrate his superb flying abilities in a reckless dive when he spotted the Snitch near the south end of the lawn. It flitted away again before he could close in on it, though, because Alvarez rammed him off-course and Matt sent a well-aimed Bludger into his path that he was forced to dodge.

Suddenly, an excited murmur went through the crowd. Andrew hurled the Quaffle across the pitch and looked for the commotion while the Chasers quarrelled over it, but he knew what it was the moment Kevin dropped the Quaffle in shock: Riko Moriyama had come to watch the game.

He sat near the professors' box at the top of the stands with his uncle, dressed all in black with a single green pin affixed mockingly to his lapel in support of his old team. His eyes passed over Kevin dismissively, then landed on Neil.

“Andrew! Watch it!”

The Quaffle barrelled toward him and Andrew knocked it away with his shoulder, watching as Jeremy zipped past beneath the goal and caught it. Kevin was still suspended in mid-air, white as a sheet, and Jeremy made two goals in the confusion while Thea screamed at Kevin to get it together and Allison was distracted by Neil, who seemed to be having trouble with his broom.

And just like that, everything fell into chaos. Jean abandoned his post to go after his own team captain and shake him out of his stupor, Seth and Allison were hurling insults at one another, Wymack berated Alvarez for a dirty tackle; and then Neil was racing toward Andrew's side of the pitch, hand outstretched, something gold zipping ahead of him. Alvarez was too late in following but somehow, Andrew was out of his goal before he could explain what he was doing, because he had seen this exact scene before. Jeremy shouted in surprised anger as the Quaffle went through the hoops behind him, but then Neil's fingers closed around the Snitch and his broom chose this moment to buck him off.

Andrew heard him yelp and adjusted his course. For a moment, Neil hung in the air, green cloak streaming behind him. People screamed, but they were all too far away. Blood was rushing in Andrew's ears. A second later, and he was right in Neil's trajectory. He let go of his broom with both arms and heard the impact before he felt it. The breath was knocked out of him and his broom spun under the combined weight but he forced himself to wrap his arms around Neil and hold on tight, concentrating with all his might on getting his broom to sink down to the ground.

They went a little faster than Andrew anticipated, and the landing was predictably rough.

Andrew felt his ankle twist under him, and the impact with the ground echoed agonisingly in his ribs. He still couldn't breathe. Neil was jostled out of his arms and ended up face-down in the dirt, one of his hands still twisted in Andrew's robes. He came up coughing violently, and that was when Andrew looked up at the sky and saw his broom drifting above, and his body realised that they'd actually fallen from a considerable height.

“Fuck, breathe, Andrew,” someone gasped, grabbing his hand. “Are you okay? Shit, fuck, you complete lunatic, fucking _breathe_ , come on, it's not that hard.”

His whole body was shaking. Pain pulsed upward from his ankle, his entire back felt skinned raw and something was still pressing down on his ribs, but slowly, Andrew managed to suck in a few short, pathetic gulps of air.

“That's it, yeah, you can do it,” Neil kept saying, squeezing his hand like his life depended on it. Andrew looked down at their joined hands and felt like laughing. When he did it sounded slightly hysterical, and then he was coughing, and his chest exploded in pain.

“I think he's really hurt,” Neil was saying to someone. “I'm fine, I can patch myself up. Check him first.”

Abby Winfield, the school nurse, leaned over him.

“Mr Minyard? Can you hear me?”

Andrew squeezed Neil's hand and blacked out.

 


	4. Kisses and scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riko makes another appearance, Andrew finds himself with a surprise boyfriend, Katelyn's birthday party takes place, and Nathan's sentence is carried out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a bit faster in honour of my beta Janie, whose birthday is today! Happy birthday my sugar plum, you are the best <333
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, I enjoyed reading all your reactions a lot!
> 
> Chapter warnings: mentions of past physical abuse, mention of past animal abuse, mention of past self harm, scars

“I knew he should have got a different broom. The Foxtail's too temperamental.”

“Kevin, shut the fuck up, literally no one cares.”

“It was Riko, he was tampering with it, I'm sure of it. He had his wand out. The bastard can't stand the thought of someone replacing him, so he came to sabotage us.”

“That's a really serious accusation, Allison...”

“Just because you can't face the fact that he is a lying, cheating, foul, evil -”

Fucking hell.

Andrew opened his eyes to the white ceiling of the hospital wing. The curtains around his bed were pulled aside, the soothing smell of disinfectant potion and dried sage hung in the air, and someone was holding his hand. His contacts itched in his eyes.

“That's enough!”

The nurse came out of her office with a steaming goblet in one hand and shot the squabbling Slytherins a dirty look. Andrew caught Jeremy's eye and he started forward, alerting the nurse to the fact that Andrew had woken up, and she brought the goblet over to his bed.

“Mr Minyard, how are you feeling?”

Apart from the pure terror that coursed through him every time he dared to think about who was holding his hand, not too bad. He'd definitely felt worse.

“Sore,” he muttered, which was true. His ribs felt bruised to hell and back, and his fractured ankle was evidently in the painful process of knitting itself back together with the help of Skele-Gro. He must have been half conscious earlier for her to feed him the potion, but he remembered none of it.

Ms Winfield spent a few minutes examining him, then made him drink whatever was in the goblet and warned him not to try and get up while his ankle was still healing.

“I am keeping you overnight for observation,” she said sternly, “but you should be fine to return to class on Monday.”

“Fantastic,” Andrew mumbled, feeling woozy and unfocused, though the pain was fading to a dull throb. The hand in his twitched, and his eyes spilled over to the person attached to it against his will. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Neil whispered, smiling. His face looked as bruised as Andrew felt and one of his arms was in a sling, but he seemed to be fine otherwise, and Andrew couldn't stop looking at him and seeing the way his body had arced through the air after his broom had bucked him off.

“You saved my life,” Neil whispered, reproachfully.

Andrew laughed, and it hurt, and then the others were crowding around his bed despite Ms Winfield's protests.

His own teammates were jostling for space in between Kevin, who was talking a mile a minute, and Jean, who looked white-faced and anxious. Allison was still ranting about Riko showing up out of the blue, Renee was wisely keeping out of the way, Jeremy was apologising profusely for yelling at Andrew about leaving goal; then somehow all of them stepped back again and Aaron was by his side, looking livid.

“What the fuck, Andrew? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how badly that could have gone? Are you out of your fucking mind? A simple cushioning charm would have done the trick – Wymack was already on it – ”

It took three people, in the end, to pull him back.

“Touching,” Andrew muttered, more shaken by the whole thing than he liked to admit. Somehow, Neil was still holding his hand.

Apparently Aaron noticed this at the same time Andrew did, because he stopped struggling and gaped instead. Before he could say something, the nurse finally lost her patience with all those people cluttering up the hospital wing and unceremoniously threw them all out. Neil made to get up as well but Ms Winfield pointed his finger at him to stay, so he sank back into his chair.

Andrew missed the warmth of his hand.

“You and I are going to have a talk about broom safety, Mr Hatford,” Ms Winfield told Neil tiredly. “Not today, though. Your teammates gave me a headache. If you promise to rest and drink your potion, you can go when it's time for dinner.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Neil said politely, and picked up a half-finished goblet. He grimaced at the taste but drank it obediently and Ms Winfield nodded, satisfied, and left them alone for a moment to pick up a fresh batch of Pepper-Up from the potions professor.

She hadn't been gone long enough for the silence to become awkward between Andrew and Neil when the door was pushed open again, and in came none other than Riko Moriyama.

“Ah,” he said smoothly, flicking non-existent dirt off his robe, “the sad heroes of today's travesty of a match.”

“Are you done re-traumatising Kevin already? I was sure it would take you longer,” Andrew said, knowing that Renee would have whisked Kevin and Jean away to one of their secret hide-outs in an abandoned corridor near the library the moment they had left the safety of the hospital wing. Still, it irked him that he couldn't keep Kevin close when Riko was roaming the castle so freely.

Riko tutted and wandered over, picking up one of the empty potion vials on the bedside table to inspect the label.

“Kevin is my friend,” he said, a note of condescension in his voice like Andrew was too stupid to understand such a concept. “I merely wanted to support him and his team today. What a shame it had to end like this.”

“We won,” Neil said bluntly. Riko's eyes snapped to his, narrowing at his nerve to interrupt him. “I caught the Snitch before Wymack blew his whistle.”

“You're not worth your salt as a Seeker if you couldn't see from above what was clear as daylight from below,” Riko sneered. “Your team is a fractured mess. Kevin should relinquish captaincy and concentrate on his studies. No professional team is going to sign him with his dominant hand compromised and he needs to accept that and move on. The fact that he let someone as inexperienced as you on the team is testament to that.”

“I caught the Snitch!” Neil repeated, incensed, and Riko smiled; showing his teeth.

“You can't even control your broomstick,” he said silkily, and suddenly Andrew was sure that Allison had been right: Riko had tampered with Neil's broom. “Foxtails are temperamental little beasts. I, personally, wouldn't be seen dead riding one, but if I did then I'd make sure I had it under total control before I brought it to a match lest I look like a fool in front of the whole school. Wouldn't you?”

“Just out of curiosity,” Andrew said. “Which curse did you use?”

Riko looked back at him and showed his teeth again.

“Always so quick to suspect me, Minyard,” he murmured, amusement dancing in his voice. “I remember a time when that got you into a lot of trouble with the professors, because you could never prove your slanderous lies.”

“And yet you left the country when Renee threatened to go public,” Andrew sneered.

Riko calmly brushed off his robes again.

“That's your version of events,” he said. “By all means, keep clinging to it if it makes you feel better. If you'll excuse me now, I have to catch up with an old friend. He's been rather elusive this afternoon.”

“Your old friend doesn't want to see you,” Neil called after him, still seething. “And who can blame him? You're about as pleasant as a dried patch of butt scum sticking to the toilet seat.”

Riko turned and raised his eyebrows, but the door opened before he could retort and Ms Winfield came back in, carrying a crate of potions. Her face went blank and cold when she saw Riko, who apparently knew that he wasn't wanted and made a swift exit.

“Butt scum?” Andrew asked into the ensuing tense silence. Neil looked away from the door, met his gaze, and started laughing.

Andrew didn't laugh, because his chest still hurt like a motherfucker, but it was a close thing.

*

Kevin was still a mess when Andrew was released from Ms Winfield's care on Sunday morning with a pair of crutches to ease his ankle back into carrying his weight, and another dose of pain relief potion for his ribs. Wymack had checked in on them the night before and asked Neil about his problems with his broom, and Neil insisted he was fine and didn't say anything about Riko. Wymack clearly knew something was up but he let it go and left them with a packet of chocolate frogs and a giant bag of Bertie Bott's that Andrew painstakingly divided up between the two of them. He was the only visitor Ms Winfield tolerated, though, and she sent several disappointed girls away who were hoping to catch a glimpse of Neil.

Katelyn showed up after breakfast to help Andrew back to his dorm. She brought a plate of hot buttered crumpets, still under a warming spell and slathered with jam, and they ate them together perched on the edge of Andrew's bed while Ms Winfield gave him stern instructions on which potions to take when and under what circumstances he had to come back to the hospital wing.

“Aaron sends his regards,” Katelyn said as they walked slowly back to Hufflepuff, the castle quiet and sleepy around them. Andrew snorted.

“No he doesn't.”

“Well, he didn't _say_ as much,” Katelyn smiled, “but I know he was worried about you. He spent half the night pacing a hole in the floor.”

They walked down a staircase, and Andrew had to stop and catch his breath for a moment. Katelyn kindly pretended to tie her shoelaces.

“The whole school is talking about you and Neil,” she informed him as they were drawing close to the Hufflepuff quarters. “Someone said they saw you holding hands when they took you away. Naturally, it spread like Fiendfyre.”

Andrew's stomach squeezed itself up tight and he stopped again, fussing with his crutches. Katelyn waited patiently to accompany him the rest of the way and help him through the entrance into the Hufflepuff common room, which was toasty warm from several fires and crowded with sleepy students still wearing pyjamas and bathrobes. Andrew barely had time to readjust to the noise level when someone launched himself at him with a cry, nearly succeeding in bowling them both over into the wall.

“Get off me,” Andrew snarled, pushing his cousin away. “I'm not dead, for fuck's sake.”

“But you could have died!” Nicky wailed, clutching at his own face. “You could have died and the last thing I would have said to you was _don't eat too much cake, you're getting so chubby I can actually tell you and Aaron apart now_!”

Andrew let his head thump against the wall behind him. “Who the fuck let him in here?” he asked loudly, and Nicky sniffed.

“Your boyfriend, actually. Come over here, he's waiting for you, and you should probably lie down anyway.”

Wait. Boyfriend? Was Nicky being delusional again, or was there something more potent in Ms Winfield's pain potions than she let on?

“Besides, this is my house too,” Nicky went on, oblivious, and herded Andrew over to a cluster of sofas where Matt was talking to Neil and Aaron, King fast asleep in Neil's lap. His sling was gone and his bruises had faded to a sickly yellow. “Just because I graduated last year doesn't mean I can't come and visit you guys. Heeey, look who's here!”

Andrew was shoved down into the plushest sofa next to Neil. Nicky perched on the side of Matt's armchair and Katelyn climbed onto the other sofa with Aaron, kicking off her shoes and putting her chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Matt said, “you okay? That was one hell of a stunt you pulled, we thought you were both goners.”

Andrew gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. It felt strangely good to have Nicky back in his pack, but Kevin's absence was a niggling annoyance in the back of his head. After Riko's surprise visit the day before he kind of just wanted all of them where he could see them, even Jean and the girls.

“I would have been, if he hadn't caught me. He was amazing,” Neil said quietly, burying his hand in King's fluffy fur. Andrew froze, eyes fixed on the purring Kneazle, and tried to slow his heart rate down again. They were just words. Words were meaningless. People made words all the time, flinging promises about like they were brochures to hand out and lure others in, and Andrew was done falling for them; was done letting his hopes be crushed and kicked aside like garbage.

“Andrew,” Nicky said, “we're talking to you. Are you even listening?”

Andrew grunted. He saw Jeremy coming over out of the corner of his eye and snagged his sleeve.

“Jeremy! Go get your fanboy, he needs to not be out of my sight. Kevin, I mean Kevin. Go, go, go.”

“Alright, lover boy,” Jeremy grinned, shaking off his hand. “Congrats, by the way. I didn't know you two were together.”

Confused, Andrew watched him head to the door. Nicky was talking to Aaron and Katelyn about Katelyn's upcoming birthday, Matt chiming in with suggestions for which pub in Hogsmeade Aaron should take her to on a date, and Andrew turned to Neil and whispered: “Why is everyone acting weird? Did Riko Confund them?”

“He left before dinner last night,” Neil said, shaking his head. “Katelyn said there's a rumour we're boyfriends, because of your heroic rescue.”

“That's ridiculous,” Andrew muttered. “People are ridiculous.”

“Mm,” Neil agreed. “It's kind of fun, though. And no one tried to flirt with me at dinner, that was nice.”

“Weirdo.”

“What? It makes me uncomfortable. I can never tell if they're being serious, and it's awkward when I have to tell them no.”

“Well, in that case, we can just continue to let them think we're boyfriends,” Andrew said, half sarcastically, and tried to ignore the hot feeling in his chest. Neil laughed and shrugged, letting King gnaw playfully on his finger.

“I don't really care what they think,” he murmured. “Why? Do you want to prank your cousin?”

Andrew saw Aaron looking over at them, huddled together and talking in hushed voices as they were.

“Can we convince Aaron too, do you think?” he muttered.

“We might have to do some more hand-holding,” Neil hummed, and offered his hand palm-up to Andrew. “Maybe he'll do the face again.”

Heart hammering in his throat, Andrew laced his fingers with Neil's and laid their joint hands loosely on their thighs. When he glanced over at his brother Aaron was gaping again, and Katelyn smirked and reached over to snap his jaw shut for him.

“Nailed it,” Neil whispered gleefully.

Andrew's hand tightened reflexively around Neil's, and when Neil squeezed back Andrew felt like he couldn't breathe.

It wasn't real, he reminded himself, and let go of Neil's hand. Neil wasn't his boyfriend, he didn't actually want to hold Andrew's hand, and Andrew most certainly wasn't amazing. He was an awkward mess of gay feelings and disturbing visions and couldn't even cast a simple Alohomora if someone locked him in a toilet stall, and besides, Neil wasn't interested in anyone. He'd said so himself.

And yet, when Neil smiled at him, Andrew felt like a million Snitches.

*

“It was Riko who broke Kevin's hand,” Andrew said, buried in one of the spacious two-person armchairs in the Ravenclaw common room with Neil. Katelyn's birthday party was a thankfully quiet affair, and they'd retreated to one of the many cosy alcoves dotted around the room so that Andrew could tell Neil the story of Riko and Kevin in peace while people thought they were having a couple's moment. “It wasn't the first time he laid hands on Kevin, but it was the most violent of his outbursts. He was jealous because Kevin got an offer from the Tornadoes to train with their junior team over the summer, so he broke it in a way that not even the healers at St. Mungo's could fully fix it.”

Neil frowned. “How come that wasn't in the newspapers? They just said it was an accident.”

“It was hushed up, of course,” Andrew said. He caught Aaron looking over at them and, on a whim, picked up Neil's hand and flipped it palm up. He traced the short, blunt lines there, a thrill of pleasure shivering through him when Neil didn't pull away. “Kevin moved into the Hufflepuff dorm for the rest of the year and Jeremy let him train with us when his hand was mended enough to hold on to a broomstick. He was a wreck and a nuisance and only left the dorm for class and practice.”

“How come Riko still transferred to Durmstrang at the end of the year?”

“Renee,” Andrew said fondly. “Jean took the brunt of dear Riko's anger when Kevin was gone. Renee offered to let him sleep in the girls' dormitory, but Jean refused. So she threatened to go to the press with what she knew. Her adoptive mother is the editor of the Quibbler, she has a lot of connections to the other newspapers. The story would have sold out within a day. Riko's uncle put a stop to it and forced him to transfer, making it look like that had been the plan all along.”

“That piss stain,” Neil grumbled. “I knew I wanted to punch him for a reason.”

“I punched him once,” Andrew said conversationally. “Wasn't as satisfying as I hoped, he just went on being an abusive piece of shit, only not so much where I could see him. He's like one of those Muggle jack-in-the-boxes.”

“Did you break his nose?” Neil asked hopefully.

“Little bit,” Andrew grinned. Neil laughed, delighted, and wiggled his hand out of Andrew's grasp so he could trace the lines in Andrew's palm as well.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Katelyn yelled, waving and beckoning for them to join the last of the party guests who were sitting in a lopsided circle around the decimated drinks table. A few Ravenclaw night owls were still dotted around the common room, reading or writing, but most people had gone to bed by now. Neil got up and tugged at Andrew's hand.

“Come on, don't be so antisocial. It's her birthday, after all.”

“You're not my boyfriend,” Andrew grumbled, but still allowed himself to be pulled over to join the others. They sat on a sheepskin rug in between Matt and Kevin and Andrew took Kevin's Firewhisky and drained it just because he could, and because chances were Kevin had had too much to drink anyway. He'd got spectacularly drunk after Riko's visit the week before, and Andrew wasn't too keen on manhandling a crying Kevin into the shower at two in the morning because he'd puked in his hammock again. The Hufflepuff dorm had procured it for him in fifth year, when Kevin had slept there more often than not, and the poor thing had made intimate acquaintance with the contents of Kevin's stomach more than enough times.

“We're playing Veritaserum or Imperius,” Katelyn said excitedly, and Neil looked so alarmed that Andrew had to nudge him with his elbow.

“There's no actual Veritaserum or Imperius involved,” he muttered, and Neil relaxed again. “It's just a stupid name, because someone thought Truth or Dare sounded too Muggle.”

“I think you should go first,” Katelyn beamed. “Neil, Veritaserum or Imperius?”

“Uhh... Imperius?”

Katelyn clapped her hands together and pressed them to her lips, making a show of trying to think of a dare for Neil. Her eyes slid over to Andrew, mischievously, and she said: “I dare you to kiss Andrew!”

Aaron glared at her and Allison whooped drunkenly in approval, one arm around Renee and the other around Dan, who had her feet in Matt's lap and looked like she was halfway to falling asleep. Jean looked uncomfortable as always. Kevin was staring mournfully at the bottom of his empty glass, and Jeremy giggled tipsily into Kevin's shoulder. Laila and Alvarez had sneaked off for an actual couple's moment at some point and failed to return, and two of Katelyn's Ravenclaw friends were eyeing Andrew and Neil with interest.

“Um,” Neil said, turning to Andrew. “Okay with you?”

Andrew, who had managed to pretend that this dare didn't actually involve him up until this point, suddenly felt like his stomach was filled with live Flobberworms. He stared at Neil's mouth for longer than was probably appropriate, then tried to combine a nod with a casual shrug and ended up twitching awkwardly. Neil smiled and leaned into his space.

“Alright then,” he said cheerfully, “going to kiss my boyfriend. Here I go.”

Everyone, including Andrew, held their breath. Aaron whipped off his glasses and cleaned them furiously on the hem of his jumper, studiously not looking at them. Neil gently took hold of Andrew's chin with one hand, licked his lips, then moved very slowly and pressed the softest, most chaste of kisses to Andrew's cheek.

There was a collective groan of disappointment, and one of Katelyn's friends rolled her eyes and told Katelyn she should have specified what kind of a kiss. Neil just grinned and sat back, and Andrew pulled the hood of his jumper over his head and sank as deep into the sheepskin rug as he could. He was hoping the Ravenclaw common room was as attuned to its inhabitants' feelings as the Hufflepuff dorms were to guests needing hammocks and would just swallow him up.

It did not.

Katelyn smirked at him from across the circle. Andrew was going to kill her.

Aaron also looked like he wanted to murder his girlfriend, which was the only upside to the whole fiasco, and then Neil tugged at Andrew's hood until he slid down the rest of the way and put his head in Neil's lap. That was pretty okay, too.

*

October boiled down fast, going from bright, frothy yellows to deep, caramelised browns and burnt orange. Angry winds shook the castle at night and rain lashed the grounds during the day, making Herbology, Creatures and Astronomy the least liked classes since they all took place outside. In Divination Bee moved on from crystal balls to other forms of scrying, and one memorable lesson had all four of them staring intensely into bowls of plain water for half an hour before Renee sheepishly admitted that she couldn't see a thing. Andrew found death omens in his morning tea again, but attributed it to Nathan's upcoming Kiss, and penned several furious feet of parchment on why the Grim was a misunderstood omen before he remembered that he was supposed be writing an essay on the potions commonly used for scrying. Bee still gave him full marks.

Somehow the whole school seemed to have simply accepted that Neil and Andrew were dating, and given the fact that most of Andrew's classmates still vividly remembered when Andrew had put two boys in the hospital wing for ruining Aaron's Herbology project in second year and the others were too afraid of the Wesninski boy to even sit next to him in class, they were more or less left alone about it. Seth tended to voice his disgust at the Slytherin table to anyone who would listen, but Allison spelled maggots in his food whenever he got too annoying. Aaron still made a face like someone had put Fire Crabs in his pants whenever he caught sight of them holding hands. He kept quiet about it, though, probably thanks to Katelyn's intervention.

Neil wasn't approached by flirty girls anymore, except for once, when one of the girl's friends immediately smacked the back of her head and whispered “silly, don't you know he's with Minyard now?” before pulling her away with an anxious look at Andrew.

Andrew felt a little smug about that, and had to bite down hard on the tip of his tongue to remind himself that it was all pretend.

“Just make sure that it doesn't distract him from Quidditch practice,” Kevin told him fretfully on the morning of another Hogsmeade weekend. The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall was spilling over with clouds like stuffing pulled out of an old, discoloured sofa, and a miserable drizzle hissed against the windows outside.

“Nothing could distract that junkie from Quidditch,” Andrew said sourly, stabbing at a mushroom. Kevin absently loaded five sausages onto Andrew's plate – Hufflepuff was playing Gryffindor next and Kevin seemed to think that Andrew needed to keep his strength up even though the match wasn't until February – and Andrew calmly nudged them all onto Kevin's plate in favour of more toast.

“Do you think he'll come back?” Kevin whispered, eyes darting around nervously like he was expecting Riko to pop out behind the Slytherin tapestry on the wall if anyone so much as mentioned his name. “For the Ravenclaw match, I mean. What if – I mean – if Neil has trouble with his broom again...”

“He won't,” Andrew said. “Wymack checked it over for him. If Riko shows up, we'll give him a warm welcome.”

He smiled grimly, and Kevin recoiled a little.

“Andrew... if you do anything against the rules -”

“Oh, Kevin. It's like you don't know me. I am the picture of rule-abiding.”

Kevin didn't look convinced and scooped an excessive amount of porridge into a bowl for Andrew while he chewed over his next words.

“Have you thought any more about going pro after school?” he asked, frowning, and Andrew sighed and pushed the porridge away.

“I don't need to think about it because I'm not going to. This conversation is over, you can leave a message after the beep. Beep!”

Kevin, who hadn't grown up around Muggles and answerphones, looked confused, but he'd known Andrew for long enough that he had learned to take these things in stride.

“I just thought,” he said, wringing his hands and pushing the bowl of porridge back toward Andrew, “now that, you know. You and Neil... if he gets signed by a professional team, and he might very well be – I thought maybe you'd change your mind.”

Andrew looked at him and wanted to laugh.

Every time he looked into a scrying bowl or a tea cup and tried to think of his future after graduation, his brain hit a wall. He might as well have been staring at a blank television screen or drinking hot chocolate. There just wasn't anything, and it had been like that even before Bee had sat him down in her office with a biscuit and told him that she had tracked down his grandmother, a first generation Seer who had produced his and Aaron's failure of a father, but who was apparently still willing to come and take him under her wing in the summer holidays. Bee's abilities only went so far, and there were things that ran in families – secrets and traditions and quirks handed down over the generations – which she couldn't teach him anyway.

No amount of family wisdom could remove the screen from Andrew's mind that obscured his own future from him, though. Bee, of course, had gently suggested therapy – Andrew still felt the hysterical urge to laugh bubbling up in him every time he remembered the awkwardness of _that_ trainwreck conversation.

 _Hey, maybe it's because I'm going to die before graduation_ , he'd joked, but Bee hadn't found that funny at all and his grandmother had smacked him over the head and set him chores until his arms ached so badly he could barely hold his tarot cards.

“Okay,” Kevin conceded after Andrew had stared him down for a few minutes, “maybe not yet. You two only just...”

He flapped his hand about awkwardly, then turned back to his breakfast and didn't say another word until they left for Hogsmeade. Somehow, he had managed to collar both Dan and Jeremy in the Entrance Hall and was having a heated debate with them about Puddlemere United's new Seeker when Andrew got waylaid by Neil.

“Hey,” he panted, hooking his arm under Andrew's, looking windswept and uncharacteristically smart in a blue button-down and a black silk bow-tie that Andrew couldn't remember picking up at Gladrags when they'd bought Neil clothes. “You ready? I just had to chase King out of the Potions classroom, she was going for the rat tails in the storage cupboard, the naughty thing.”

Andrew would have liked to do all sorts of naughty things with Neil, but none of them involved rat tails or a Kneazle with misplaced affections.

“What the fuck is that,” he snarled instead of voicing this and pointed at the bow-tie.

“Hmm? Oh, that. Allison gave it to me, she made me dress up for our date.”

“Our what now?”

“Date,” Neil grinned, leading him down the front steps and casting a quick umbrella charm to keep them dry in the relentless drizzle. “Apparently, that's what people call it when you go to Hogsmeade with your boyfriend.”

Andrew looked blankly at him, then at the silly little bow-tie, at the cowlick above his ear and the Kneazle hair on his jacket.

“Your shirt's buttoned up wrong,” he informed him, and looked resolutely away when Neil hastily let go of his arm to fix it.

Even though they had left at about the same time, the others were curiously absent once Neil and Andrew got to Hogsmeade. Andrew ground his teeth, hoping that Jeremy and Dan had taken custody of Kevin for the day, and tailed Neil into the shops for a while, to make sure he didn't buy overpriced Quidditch gloves or colour-changing ink that he didn't need. Neil took his advice on the gloves but bought the ink anyway, and then Andrew got distracted when they went into Honeydukes and didn't notice Neil had slipped away until he suddenly reappeared beside him, just as Andrew was glaring at a display of seasonal chocolate frogs with spiced pumpkin fillings that definitely weren't in his budget this month.

“Here,” Neil said, holding out a small paper bag to him, “now we match.”

Andrew turned his glare on him for good measure, but took the bag when curiosity got the better of him and peered inside.

Neil had bought him a violently pink bow-tie.

“I hate you,” Andrew muttered, thrusting the bag back at Neil, who giggled – _giggled_ , for fuck's sake – and grabbed a box of pumpkin chocolate frogs off the shelf.

“Come on, let's go. I want lunch at the Three Broomsticks.”

Andrew didn't brighten up until they went outside and Neil pushed the box of chocolate frogs at him. The lunatic had only bought a bag of Fizzing Whizbees for himself, but if he was so intent on burning a hole through his tongue then who was Andrew to stop him – it wasn't like they were actually kissing, after all, so what Neil did with his tongue was none of his concern (outside of the occasional wank fantasy).

*

The Kissing of Nathan Wesninski was scheduled for the fourth of November.

Andrew saw the muted horror in Neil's eyes when he caught sight of the Daily Prophet at breakfast the day before, and made sure to pick him up outside the Slytherin quarters with a bundle of sandwiches and a couple of apples on the morning of the fourth so they could go straight to Hernandez' office without having to contend with the crowds in the Great Hall. Andrew wasn't too keen on people making a fuss about his birthday, anyway, and thought Aaron could just take the brunt of that while he was gone.

Hernandez was skittish and apologetic as he handed over the Floo powder – Neil could Apparate but hadn't got his license yet, and Andrew had never bothered to take the course in sixth year. If he could barely light a candle with his wand, Apparating was definitely out of the question.

“Well, good luck,” Hernandez said, mopping his sweaty brow, and watched with dismay as Neil nodded tiredly and stepped into the fire. He was gone in a flash of green.

“Mr Minyard,” Hernandez spoke up just as Andrew was about to throw his Floo powder into the flames. “I'm glad he won't be alone. You look after him out there, will you?”

Andrew thought the dramatics were quite unnecessary, but found himself nodding nevertheless. He followed Neil through the fire, emerging in the heavily guarded visitor's lobby of the infamous Azkaban prison, the temperature dropping noticeably despite the multiple fireplaces all blazing behind locked grates. A guard held open the one in front of Andrew and he stepped through, looking around for Neil.

He was with a short, blank-faced woman and a straight-backed man with greying hair, both wearing black robes with strict high collars. Neil, with his auburn hair and lively blue eyes, didn't resemble them much except for the height, but there was a fierceness in their auras that instantly marked them as related.

“Andrew,” Neil said quietly, “this is my mother Mary, and my uncle Stuart.”

Andrew shook hands with them, feeling Mary's eyes on him. She looked like any ordinary woman, and yet Andrew got the distinct impression she wasn't someone you wanted to cross.

A guard came to collect them and they followed him silently, a long, tedious trek down several corridors and staircases and magically sealed doors that had no handles or locks and fitted seamlessly into the walls. It would have been impossible to traverse them without a wand or knowing a bunch of complex wandless spells. The lower levels didn't house any Dementors yet, as they were for minor crimes and juvenile delinquents – Andrew had had the pleasure of spending a night in one of the temporary holding cells at the Ministry when he'd been fourteen, but his grandmother had bailed him out before he'd ever seen the inside of Azkaban proper. She'd still grounded him for the rest of the summer, of course, which was kind of the same thing.

It got colder the higher they went. Andrew stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling it in his bones, and they climbed a little faster as they passed by the deathly stillness of the high security prisoners until they reached the top level. There were no windows, just an endless high ceiling and a row of seats facing a single chair.

A handful of people in official looking robes filed into the room and took their seats. Andrew sat next to Neil and waited. The air was so cold their breath hung thick and white above their heads, and Andrew could see Neil trembling under his cloak. Guards stood beside the chair, then a door opened at the other end of the room and four more guards marched in with Nathan Wesninski in their midst, followed by a single Dementor.

Someone cast a Patronus and had it prowl between the chair and the spectators, but Andrew didn't feel any better.

Nathan's sentence was read. Beside Andrew, Neil sat frozen, his eyes on his father; his back hunched as if in phantom pain. One of his hands was pressed over his abdomen, knuckles white with tension. Nathan kept his head down throughout the procedure and Andrew stared transfixed at his aura, the familiar feeling of déjà-vu unsettlingly clear. Auras were tricky, though, even when the person was standing right in front of you – the harder you looked, the fuzzier they got. He'd caught glimpses of Nathan's in photographs and visions, of course, so it might have just been that.

Tearing his eyes away from Nathan, Andrew looked back at Neil. He was sweating despite the cold, his eyes feverish. Without thinking, Andrew reached out and offered his hand. Neil grabbed on to it like a lifeline and held it so tightly it hurt.

The Dementor moved forward. Just as it bent over the chair, Nathan lifted his head, auburn hair lank and eyes piercing in the rancid dark of the room. He looked right at his son and smiled, the same smile Andrew had seen Neil trying to claw off his face with his nails.

Neil made the smallest of anguished sounds, and then Nathan Wesninski stopped existing.

*

Stuart Hatford squeezed his nephew's shoulder in parting. Neil's mother stood off to one side, looking blankly at the wall. She hadn't betrayed a single reaction at the demise of her ex-husband, but she and Neil seemed able to communicate without words and Mary's eyes barely even flickered to where Neil and Andrew were still holding hands.

“Let's go,” Andrew said, tugging Neil over to where a guard was holding open the grate in front of a fireplace. Neil took the Floo powder on autopilot and nearly forgot to verbalise his destination before the flames whirled him away. Andrew cast one last look at the Hatfords, waiting in front of the adjacent fireplace as a guard opened the grate, and went after Neil.

When he stepped out into Hernandez' office, Neil was puking out his guts over the wastepaper basket; Hernandez hovering and looking alarmed but clearly unsure whether he should call the nurse. Andrew gestured at him to back off, waited until Neil seemed done, and jammed his shoulder under Neil's arm until he leaned on him. He left Hernandez to clean up the mess and took Neil to the nearest bathroom to rinse out his mouth and splash cold water on his face.

“Sorry,” Neil mewled when he was finished, looking drained and miserable. He was fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror like it was a poisonous thing.

“You can write Hernandez an apology letter later,” Andrew said, and motioned at the door. “Come on.”

Neil was apparently too exhausted to ask where they were going, but he followed Andrew without complaint. Most of the students were in class, so the corridors were empty, and Andrew took the most direct route down to the Entrance Hall and then led them across the lawn towards the pitch.

He picked the lock on the broom shed then took out his Twilight and tossed it at Neil, who grabbed it reflexively. He waited, but Andrew didn't take any more brooms.

“Um?”

“Mount it,” Andrew told him calmly. The thought of letting someone else fly his broom still made his hands itch, but at the same time the thought of letting _Neil_ fly his broom – not _that_ broom, shut up Nicky – also left a tiny thrill in the pit of his stomach.

Neil continued to look confused for a moment, and then glanced down at the Twilight in his hand like it was his first time seeing a broom. He didn't need any more encouragement, though, and by the time he pushed off the ground there was nothing hesitant in him anymore and he gave himself over completely to the broom's speed.

It was a sight to behold, and Andrew intended to enjoy it from the stands for as long as it took Neil to unwind.

For a long time, Neil threw himself at the sky with such fury that Kevin would probably have fainted if he saw. Andrew pulled his cloak around himself, shivering in the frosty air, the clammy cold of Azkaban still lingering on his skin and in his bones. His pathetic attempt at a warming charm dissipated as soon as he'd cast it, so he stuck his useless wand back up his sleeve and pulled his knees up to his chest to at least preserve some body heat. It was getting dark when Neil finally came back down, even though it was still afternoon, and it took Andrew a moment to persuade his limbs to move and join Neil down on the pitch.

“That,” Neil said, breathing heavily and looking at the broom with reverence in his eyes, “is an awesome broom. Thank you.”

“Hungry?” Andrew asked, and tried to rub feeling back into his fingers. Neil caught the movement and frowned.

“Why didn't you cast a warming charm? It's freezing out here. Come on, I want to take a shower before we go back.”

He put the Twilight away and led Andrew over to the Slytherin changing room, where he pulled a towel and some crumpled clothes out of his locker. Andrew sat on a bench, the muscles in his back and legs slowly unclenching now that they were out of the cold, and tried to keep his eyes firmly on the blackboard in the corner where Kevin had scribbled plays.

Neil chattered idly about the next Ravenclaw-Slytherin match as he undressed. Andrew dug his fingers into his arms and kept staring at the blackboard until Neil had disappeared into the shower. He picked up Neil's discarded cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders on top of his own but the warmth felt like a fever, and the clammy sweat clinging to his clothes didn't help either.

“I'll need that back in a moment,” Neil chided softly when he came back, and Andrew's head turned before he could stop himself.

Well, at least Neil had a towel wrapped around his waist, Andrew thought before looking away again. Something felt off, though, and he glanced back as Neil picked through his pile of clothes, water droplets sliding down his chest, blurring ever so slightly –

“Why are you wearing a Glamour?”

For a second, Neil froze. Then he looked up, eyes guarded, and quickly pulled a t-shirt over his head before answering.

“I have scars,” he mumbled, tugging on the sleeves of the shirt. “Curse scars. My father – he wasn't around much, he travelled a lot to meet with business partners, but when he was home he made me practice curses on... on animals. I couldn't do it, most of the time, so he'd demonstrate them on me instead.”

“Show me,” Andrew demanded. Neil looked haunted, and Andrew thought of the careful way he handled King and his Occamies, and wanted to go back to Azkaban and finish the job himself. He wasn't sure what happened to the bodies of the prisoners who were sentenced to the Kiss, or if they could even still feel pain, but he was willing to find out.

Neil stood there for a long moment, fiddling with the cuffs of his off-yellow t-shirt, but then he flicked his wand to release the Glamour and pulled up the hem. A crisscrossing landscape of scars and discoloured skin unravelled under the spell, some puckered and raised, others faint and ghostly white. When he had looked his fill, Andrew nodded, and Neil tugged his shirt down again and renewed the Glamour.

Slowly, Andrew peeled himself out of his two cloaks and folded back the sleeves of his robes. He looked down at his exposed arms, then held them out for Neil to see.

“Oh,” Neil said quietly. “Are those – did you –”

“Yes,” Andrew said.

Neil looked at the scars for a little while and nodded, too. Andrew rolled his sleeves back down and picked up his cloak.

“How recent are they?” Neil wanted to know as he finished getting dressed. Andrew gazed down at his covered arms and wondered how he felt about that question.

“Not recent,” he finally said. Shaping the words was exhausting. “Third year wasn't a good year. Bee found me out and showed me a few alternatives to carving myself up every night. Professor Dobson,” he added, when Neil looked confused.

“And they worked?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“And when they didn't?”

Andrew wrapped himself in his cloak to counteract the feeling of being too exposed, and looked back at Kevin's illegible handwriting on the board.

“I found my own,” he said blandly. “Smashed a few windows. Exploded a cauldron or two. The usual teen angst.”

Neil hummed. “I used to set fire to the furniture,” he said. “The house elves always fixed the damage after, but sometimes they let me have some old stuff from the attic.”

“Sounds cathartic.”

“It was,” Neil smiled, closing his locker. “Now I'm hungry. What time is it?”

“Not dinner time yet,” Andrew said, “but I know how to get into the kitchen.”

 


	5. Dreamless Sleep and Pepper-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has to suffer through a late birthday celebration after all and catches a cold, Aaron is trying to be a good brother with mixed results, and Renee thinks Andrew should ask Neil to visit him over Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief references to past animal abuse, more visions/dreams
> 
> Janie, light of my life, went on the hunt for commas and overlong sentences again. Thanks darling! xxx

“Andrew Joseph Minyard,” said a stern voice as they entered the Slytherin common room.

“Uh-oh,” Andrew hummed under his breath. “Better go.”

He managed to turn around and pry the door back open before it slid shut, but had to take a hasty step back when Allison spelled the doorway full of spiderwebs dotted with fat black spiders. Someone grabbed the hood of his robe and Renee inserted herself in his space with an angelic smile, crowding him gently backwards until he tripped and landed gracelessly in the depths of an armchair.

“So,” Katelyn said, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. Renee hid a smirk behind her hand and Allison sidled up on Katelyn's other side, tapping her wand against her palm. “Where the fuck have you been all day?”

“Are you aware that we led everyone in a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday Fuckwits at lunch just to realise you weren't even there?” Allison accused, pointing the blunt end of her wand at him. “Aaron had to stand in for you.”

“You got some presents,” Renee told him sweetly. “We saved them for you.”

“Is that Andrew?” someone yelled. Andrew sighed and sank further into his armchair – might as well get it over with.

“Yes, it is!” Katelyn called back and clapped her hands. “Everyone gather round! It's time to delight our very good friend by publicly embarrassing him with a song!”

“Just kill me now,” Andrew snarled.

“Nope,” Katelyn grinned. “Not yet, honey. First we have to sing. It's punishment, see, for avoiding us all day on your _birthday_.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at her but she was too busy arranging people in formation around the armchair to notice, and then the dreaded singing started. Andrew had to clap both of his hands over his ears, though it was so terrible he couldn't fully block it out. When they finally reached the end of the third verse of Celestina Warbeck's unbelievably atrocious hit single _Magical Birthday_ , someone brought out a half-eaten cake oozing icing, lopsided candles burning on top, and Katelyn threatened to tack on a fourth verse if Andrew didn't blow them out right now.

Andrew blew and wished for a fucking pair of earplugs.

There were cheers. Renee carried over a pile of presents and dropped them in Andrew's lap. Kevin took it as a sign to get out the Firewhisky and Allison flicked her wand in the air in a pointy shape and placed the conjured crown on Andrew's head.

“Cute,” someone murmured, draped over the back of Andrew's armchair. “Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?”

Andrew ripped the stupid crown off his head the moment Allison's back was turned and tossed it to the ground. Neil made a disappointed noise and reached out to pat his hair down where the crown had messed it up.

“I fucking hate all of them,” Andrew hissed. “Where's my fucking cake?”

“I'll get you a slice,” Neil promised and slunk away to where Jean was desperately trying to fend off the cake-hungry masses.

Andrew sorted through his presents – a parcel from Nicky and one from his grandmother that he put away for later, a card from Bee, some sweets from Renee, a book on crystal gazing from Katelyn (he really was going to murder her), a cat-themed tarot deck from Jean (that one was a surprise), a bottle of Firewhisky from Kevin and a new pair of dragonhide Keeper's gloves from the Hufflepuff team. He had just stuck a sugar quill in his mouth, draped sideways over the armchair with his legs dangling over the armrest, when another parcel landed in his lap.

“Happy birthday, I guess,” Aaron grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets, then removing them again to straighten his collar and fiddle with his glasses. Andrew arched an eyebrow and picked up the parcel.

“Since when are we doing presents?”

Aaron shrugged, leaned against the table and looked away. With a crunch, Andrew bit off the end of his sugar quill and chewed; then he tore the paper off the mysterious present and took out the small purple box inside.

 _Magicaid_ , was printed in big bold letters on the front. The letters zoomed around the edges of the box, chased by a wand that sprayed glittering stars. _Feeling under the weather? Having trouble performing simple spells? Your magic not up to snuff? Magicaid will help you charm and dazzle again!_ The words flitted around a cartoon of a smug elderly witch who was waving her wand around, producing more stars in front of an enraptured audience while holding a small glowing device behind her back out of sight. She turned her head toward the viewer from time to time and winked, like she was sharing a secret.

Andrew didn't need to open the box or read the instructions to know that the thing was utter garbage. He stuffed it back into its packaging and tossed it viciously at Aaron, aiming for his solar plexus.

“Katelyn told you.”

“No, she didn't,” Aaron said, frowning. “Do you really think I didn't know? I'm your twin brother, for fuck's sake. I know you don't like to be reminded of it -”

“I don't need this shit,” Andrew said coldly and got up. “Next time, buy yourself some common sense instead.”

Aaron made a sound of protest, but Andrew didn't stick around to let him talk. He nearly ran into Neil, who had got hold of a large slice of cake and was carrying the plate triumphantly over his head, but Andrew had lost his appetite and left him standing in the middle of the room.

No one followed him as he left the dungeons behind. He climbed the stairs at random, taking a meandering path through the castle, aiming away from the bustle of the houses. It was almost dinner time, so most of the students were headed downstairs. Andrew slipped into secret passageways to avoid the main corridors and finally found himself standing breathlessly outside Bee's office, his stomach in knots, annoyed that his feet had led him here.

There'd been a time when he'd visited her almost every day. Coming back now made him feel like he was thirteen again rather than newly-turned eighteen. Before he could talk himself out of knocking, though, the door swung open and Bee peered out at him over the top of her glasses; smart purple robes tied at her hip, an imperious looking owl perched on her shoulder.

“Hello, Andrew,” she said. “Why don't you come in? I was just going to make tea.”

So in he went.

*

That night, Neil found him on the Astronomy tower again.

Andrew was going to have to find a new insomnia hide-out soon. He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette, blew the smoke at the stars and flicked the ash into the wind, hunching into his cloak against the cold. The floor was covered in a thin dusting of snow that evaporated with a hiss when Neil cast a warming charm around them and sat down beside him.

“I brought you your presents,” he said, “since you weren't at dinner. And your cake.”

He put down the bag and a plate between them, then reached into his cloak and drew out the bottle of Firewhisky Kevin had given Andrew. Carefully, he placed it on the ground next to the cake like an offer.

“I would've got you something, if I'd known,” Neil huffed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Pretty sure that's on the list of things a boyfriend is expected to do. There's a bet on whether we spent the day in bed having birthday sex now.”

“My cousin seems to have had the same idea,” Andrew said, rooting around the box Nicky had sent him. He tossed a packet of Butterbeer-flavoured condoms at Neil, who caught them and snorted.

“Nice.”

“At least my public persona is getting laid,” Andrew muttered, and reached for the whisky. “That makes one of us.”

Neil laughed and took the bottle from him when he offered, though he choked on the first swallow, smoke curling from his mouth. It made him look like a dragon, the way his eyes glowed in the dark. Andrew had the strong urge to kiss the lingering heat of the Firewhisky from his lips and held his hand out for the bottle so he could rinse this folly out of his mouth.

“I think I'd like to have sex one day,” Neil said, leaning back on his hands.

“I thought you didn't have those kinds of feelings,” Andrew mocked. He snagged the plate of cake with his index finger and pulled it over to him. The icing was a waxy, melted mess at the bottom of the plate but it still tasted good – chocolate cake for Andrew, coconut icing for Aaron, and sprinkles because Katelyn was ridiculous and Renee liked all things rainbow.

“I do,” Neil smiled, “sometimes. There's just no one I particularly want to act on them with.”

“Lucky you,” Andrew said, withholding breath from the words so they sounded bone dry, like he could crumble them between his fingers.

Neil reached over and stole Andrew's abandoned cigarette. He took a drag, let the smoke spill from his mouth, then just held it between his fingers and watched it burn down to the filter.

“Why didn't your father let you go to Hogwarts?” Andrew asked.

“Guess he thought they'd fill my head with nonsense,” Neil said wryly. He was sitting cross-legged now, one hand cupped around the glowing end of the cigarette to shield it from the wind. “He'd kind of given up on the idea of me taking over his business one day by that point, but maybe he was afraid I'd blab to the other kids, or just too ashamed by his disappointment of a son to let me show my face in public.”

Andrew clucked his tongue.

“I'd be mortified too if my son didn't want to torture animals. What a disappointment indeed.”

“I know right?” Neil said softly. “Couldn't even do a simple stinging hex.”

“Did you even get your letter? Can't imagine they'd let you into Hogwarts like that.”

“I did, but my father put an Entrail-Expelling Curse on it, so I wouldn't be tempted to open it,” Neil said casually.

“Psh. Having your entrails expelled builds character,” Andrew replied deadpan. “Softie.”

“Mm,” Neil hummed.

They were quiet for a while, looking out at the stars. Snow started to fall around them, silent and weightless, and Neil cast another warming charm to keep them dry. Andrew felt tired, but he knew that he was just going to lie awake in his bed later, and besides, getting up would have meant saying good night to Neil.

“Hey,” Neil said, adjusting his position once again. “Maybe I'll get you another bow-tie in Hogsmeade next time. Or a pair of nice, fluffy earmuffs. What do you think? Orange, maybe?”

“If you do that, I'll tell my grandmother to knit you a jumper for Christmas,” Andrew threatened.

“Sounds nice,” Neil grinned. “All my jumpers are really boring.”

Harpies pink and green, Andrew thought. With those knobbly little Snitches that his grandmother liked, and a big fat orange Kneazle on the back.

It was going to be hideous. He was already looking forward to seeing Neil in it.

*

When he finally went to bed, Andrew dreamt about the lake again.

He woke with a wet gasp, lungs burning from the remnants of the dream and legs twitching against invisible weeds wrapping around his ankles and pulling him down. He dug his fingers into the scars on his arms until he calmed down, then kicked off his sweaty, tangled sheets and scrambled to the bathroom to get rid of his clammy clothes. It was too early for even Jeremy to be awake and the doors were thick enough that the soft hiss of the shower didn't disturb anyone when he turned it on, so Andrew lingered – it was rare to have the bathroom to himself in the morning – and wrapped himself in his fluffiest towel when he got out.

He put in his contacts but was too tired to bother shaving. Yawning, he picked up his toothbrush and nearly fell asleep against the sink while cleaning his teeth. When he was done rinsing out his mouth, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror, sleepy and slow, and before he knew it he'd slipped back into a vision.

It was over in a flash: the smell of wet earth, a tarot card ripped in two, indistinct shapes leaning over him, Neil's blue eyes, muffled sounds, green light, the broken lines on the palm of Neil's hand. When he came to, he was shaking, his reflection pale. Water was dripping off his chin.

“Fuck's sake,” he growled, cramming his toothbrush back in its goblet and wiping his mouth on his towel. It was one of _those_ days, apparently, so Andrew was going to have to avoid reflective surfaces and falling asleep, and preferably any sorts of tea leaves and cards as well.

No going to Divination, then. Bee was going to be pissed off with him.

He got dressed in a haze and dragged himself down to the Great Hall for coffee. It was still thankfully empty at this time, except for a few harrowed looking professors and a couple of students who had clearly pulled all-nighters and were basically nodding off over their porridge. Andrew smothered his toast in honey and forced himself to eat; then spent the rest of the morning holed up in the library, reading without really taking anything in, until it was time for Arithmancy. The visions kept lurking just out of reach, sapping his energy. He took notes in all of his classes but couldn't remember what they'd been about afterwards, and skipped lunch in favour of sitting on a bench in the icy courtyard and eating the entire box of chocolate frogs Neil had got him in Hogsmeade; trying to avoid looking at the formations of birds flying overhead.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one skipping Divination.

Andrew pulled aside the tapestry obscuring a passageway that made a short-cut from Ravenclaw tower to the library. It shouldn't have surprised him to see someone there, really – Ravenclaws used it frequently – but it was class time, and he hadn't once witnessed Katelyn miss a single class in all the years he'd (grudgingly) known her, not even during flu season when she bullied everyone into drinking Pepper-Up as a preventative measure. But it was definitely her, sitting hunched over in an alcove with her bag at her feet, her hair big and frizzy as ever.

“Oh no,” she moaned when she saw him dithering under the tapestry. Her face was oddly wet, but she quickly wiped her sleeve over it, careful not to smudge her make-up. “Did Professor Dobson send you? I know I really shouldn't miss any classes this year -”

“Shut up,” Andrew cut her off. “Bee didn't send me.”

He let the tapestry swing shut behind him and lowered himself onto the ground next to Katelyn. She averted her face, still fussing with her sleeve, and Andrew gave her the courtesy of looking away while she erased all traces of her tears.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked. Katelyn made a wet, huffy sound.

“Aaron's such an arse sometimes. I don't even know what he's grumpy about this time, but that's no reason to take it out on me.”

“Rethinking your marriage plans?” Andrew asked hopefully.

“You wish,” Katelyn laughed, smacking his arm. “He's going to snap out of it and then he's going to feel terrible and spend at least three days apologising and trailing after me like a lost puppy. He always does.”

“So many things I did not want to know about my brother,” Andrew said mournfully. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather be dating one of the numerous other boring straight boys in this school instead? I'm sure lots of them have siblings that you could pester, too.”

“Nah,” Katelyn sniffed. “You know me, I like a challenge. One day you'll wake up and find that you love me, and it'll be like having the sister you always wanted but never got.”

“I never wanted a sister.”

“Another revelation that's overdue, then,” Katelyn said matter-of-factly. “I read up on wizarding genetics, by the way, fascinating stuff. Did you know that the genes for magical ability are not the same as for clairvoyance? Which means, technically, that some Muggles out there must have the Sight? I've already talked to my Muggle Studies professor about researching this phenomenon for my end-of-year project -”

“I really couldn't care less,” Andrew sighed, fiddling with the bee badge on his bag. It was a Muggle pin – no moving pictures or annoying flashy words – and he'd had it for so long the paper inside had become faded and splotchy with age.

Maybe he was going to become a beekeeper after graduation, set up shop in the middle of nowhere with no one but the bees for company, making honey all day. He'd like that.

“It's really interesting that you and Aaron are so different in terms of magical ability,” Katelyn said softly. “Must have been a genetic mutation during early foetal development. Identical twins aren't always one hundred percent genetically identical, you see.”

“No shit,” Andrew muttered.

“I think Aaron probably has the clairvoyant genes, too,” Katelyn continued blithely, coiling a strand of hair around her finger. The ends were split where she liked to chew on them. “Most people in clairvoyant families do, but they're only expressed in some. It's like the body just switches them off. Epigenetics is a tremendously interesting field of study, the Muggles are so much more advanced than we are in that regard. I kind of want to apply for a Muggle university before I start healer training, but I'd need to take all those Ministry courses first, and it's really expensive and just a big hassle, really...”

“Can I switch mine off, too?”

Katelyn looked at him with pity in her big brown eyes.

“No, Andrew,” she said, “I don't think you can. Sorry.”

Andrew shrugged and stared at the wall. His head felt heavy and battered, like there was a snowstorm going on inside his skull, and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but he couldn't. Phantom shapes materialised sneakily in front of his eyes when he wasn't paying attention and he shook them off wearily and groped around for his bag to pull out a book. It was near impossible to take anything in, but at least his brain would be distracted.

“Do you sometimes wonder if your mother knew about you being on the Squib spectrum?” Katelyn asked softly. “If that's why she gave you away, I mean? There are tests these days, if she gave birth at St. Mungo's they probably would have done them -”

“I know she did,” Andrew said. Katelyn looked at him and he could feel the sympathy in her gaze without turning his head. “She told me when I first came to live with them. Her brother, my dear uncle Luther, convinced her it was kinder to dump me with the Muggles. They were both terrified when Dobson turned up on their doorstep with me and told them I'd got my letter after all.”

“Jesus,” Katelyn said. “I didn't know.”

Andrew shrugged and sneezed, and Katelyn threw him another look.

“You're not getting a cold, are you? Here, I've got some Pepper-Up...”

“Fuck off.”

“No can do,” Katelyn grinned, rummaging in her bag. “I consider it my duty as your future sister-in-law to look after you. Oh, here you go.”

She tossed the vial at him, the violently orange potion inside thick and frothing. Andrew let it bounce off his arm and roll away across the floor.

He sneezed again and winced at the answering pain pounding through his head.

“I won't fetch it a second time for you,” Katelyn said.

Andrew glowered at the vial and refused to crawl after it. He turned back to his book and Katelyn shook her head and got out a book of her own, settling into the alcove with her legs folded underneath her, and they passed the rest of class time in silence.

*

Andrew caught a cold.

In a way, that was fortunate, because it meant he had a suitable excuse for why he had missed Divination. It was also unfortunate, because Aaron was on shift when Andrew finally dragged himself to the hospital wing after not even the sight of Neil Hatford's perfect chiselled thighs clamped around his broomstick could keep him awake as he watched over the Slytherins' practice that night.

Aaron was in the process of coaxing a Bertie Bott's bean out of a tearful first year's left nostril. Andrew looked around, vaguely hoping that he could just grab what he needed and leave before Aaron acknowledged him, but the potions were in Ms Winfield's office and the door was locked when he tried it.

“There,” Aaron said, uncharacteristically gentle, and vanished the offending bean with a flick of his wand. “Does it still hurt now?”

“No,” the kid sniffled, prodding his nose. “Can I have a chocolate frog?”

Aaron sighed and patted his pockets, pulling out a bag of colour-changing toffees and offering it to the kid.

“Just one,” he said sternly. “And no sticking it up your nose.”

“Yes, Mr Nurse Minyard,” the kid whispered reverently, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He stuck his toffee in his mouth and sucked noisily on it, and Aaron helped him off the bed and walked him over to the door while Andrew leaned on the wall and waited. He'd have liked to say that he and Aaron had never been this tiny at eleven, but sadly he knew better.

“Andrew,” Aaron said with a stiff nod as he closed the door behind the kid. “What can I do for you?”

“Can _I_ have a chocolate frog?” Andrew grinned, mimicking the kid's high voice, but Aaron didn't take his toffees out again and only shot him a dirty look. Andrew sneezed three times in quick succession.

“You've got a cold,” was Aaron's professional opinion. “Sit down.”

“Just give me some Pepper-Up and I'll be out of your hair,” Andrew huffed. “I don't need babying.”

Aaron merely looked at him and pointed to one of the beds. Exasperated, Andrew rolled his eyes, threw his hands up, and walked over to the bed on unsteady legs. Sitting down was exhausting. Shoving Aaron's hand away when he felt his forehead was exhausting.

Having a twin was exhausting.

“It's all that sitting around in draughty corridors and in the stands,” Aaron told him, unimpressed. He cast a few simple diagnostic spells over him, shimmering runes dancing on the air, and Andrew tried not to feel so dizzy. As usual, his body betrayed him.

“Wait here.”

Now that he was sitting down, Andrew didn't think he could have walked away if he'd tried. He sat gripping the sheets, eyes drifting shut again and again, and somehow, when Aaron came back, he was lying down sideways on the bed, his legs still dangling awkwardly over the edge.

“You can sleep here tonight,” Aaron said sourly as he poured a steaming, bright orange liquid into a goblet. He popped open the cork of a second vial and summoned another goblet for it, the potion inside this one clear and viscous. “I'm giving you Dreamless Sleep. You'll need to drink all of it. If you don't, I'll Stun you.”

“Are you this pleasant with all of your patients?” Andrew mumbled.

“No, you get special treatment. Contacts out, then drink up.”

Aaron held out a small container for Andrew's contacts, and Andrew obediently drank both potions, endured the steam coming out of his ears at the double dose of Pepper-Up, and toed his shoes off before pulling his legs onto the bed. The Dreamless Sleep pulled him under before he could tug the blankets over himself, but somehow they settled themselves around him anyway, and someone muttered a warming spell just as Andrew drifted off.

Must have been standard procedure. The hospital wing probably got cold at night.

*

Fever visions were the worst. Despite the Dreamless Sleep, Andrew tossed and turned; caught up in nonsensical fragments that his brain kept regurgitating on a loop, sweating and shivering, too weak to shake off the soporific effects of the potion and pull himself to full consciousness. When he woke in the wee hours of the morning, a sour aftertaste of dawn lingering in the room, he felt like someone had run him over with a racing broom, but at least the fever had broken by then and his sinuses felt clear.

Aaron was napping in a chair off to one side.

His shift was long since over but maybe the nurse hadn't seen him behind the curtains that were drawn around Andrew's bed, or perhaps she had but had decided to let him sleep. Andrew sat up and grimaced at the familiar feeling of clammy, sweat-soaked clothes sticking to his skin and the stale smell of the sheets that had been fresh and clean the night before. He barely made a noise, but Aaron still jerked awake at once, scowling and bleary-eyed.

“How are you feeling?”

Andrew batted his hand away when he attempted to feel his forehead again.

“Like I died and someone brought me back to life in my half-rotted corpse. Can I have a chocolate frog now?”

With a sigh, Aaron collected the empty goblets from Andrew's bedside table and shuffled off to tidy them away. Andrew put his contacts back in and looked up when Aaron came back with a steaming mug of tea and some porridge. As he ate, Aaron brought him another dose of Pepper-Up and Andrew swallowed it all without complaint, then got out of bed and put his shoes back on.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a piss,” Andrew grunted. “And then back to the dorms to take a shower.”

“Andrew...”

“What?” he snapped, straightening up. Aaron made one of his constipated faces and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Just,” he said, “if you need anything...”

“I don't.”

Aaron sighed.

“Yeah, but _if_ you do, come and find me after class, okay?”

Andrew shrugged dismissively and turned away. He really, really needed fresh clothes and a shower, and he hadn't done any of the homework due today, which was a pain. At least he still had time to go to the library, since he'd already had breakfast now.

“Your – Neil came by last night,” Aaron said. “You missed Potions, so he brought his notes for you to look over, but you were already asleep.”

He held out a roll of parchment, and Andrew took it and tucked it into his bag.

“His handwriting's so atrocious I doubt I'll be able to read them,” he scoffed.

“Dobson was here, too,” Aaron continued, and Andrew felt abruptly grateful about the Dreamless Sleep acting so quickly. “She hopes you will get well soon and said to come to her when you feel better so she can update you on the homework.”

“Fantastic,” Andrew sneered. “Can I go now?”

Aaron shrugged and raised his wand to strip the bed Andrew had slept in. Andrew was almost at the door when he stopped again, this time of his own accord, but he didn't turn around as he said: “Stop stalling and go back to your dorms, your girlfriend's going to be insufferable if you keep avoiding her.”

Aaron didn't reply, so Andrew left him with his thoughts and went to get cleaned up.

*

Ravenclaw played Gryffindor at the end of November. Andrew was dragged along to watch by Kevin and Neil, who were extremely irritating for the entirety of the match. Andrew cursed himself for not taking a book with him, though he would have had trouble concentrating in the deafening noise of the crowd even if he could have cast a silencing charm at Kevin. The Ravenclaws were struggling, as a big chunk of their senior players had graduated last year and the younger replacements didn't work as seamlessly with each other as the older players, but Katelyn sent Bludger after vicious Bludger after the Gryffindor Seeker, hounding him all the way across the pitch every time something so much as glinted vaguely gold in the distance. Dan responded by throwing the full force of her Chasers at the Ravenclaw goal, and in the end, Katelyn's team had to relinquish victory by the skin of their teeth. She and Dan shook hands, Katelyn's head held high despite the defeat, and the teams traipsed back into the changing rooms, muddy and exhausted by the long match.

“She should have substituted Aaron at half-time,” Kevin ranted as they went back up to the castle, Neil's warming charm still snug around them. “His performance wasn't up to par today, he seemed really distracted. I don't know what he was thinking – this was their only chance to beat Gryffindor this year, and they had the upper hand in the first half -”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped, “shut up or I will strangle you.”

Kevin, wisely, closed his mouth, though he was clearly still bursting to share his thoughts with someone, because the minute they came across Jeremy in the Entrance Hall, Kevin attached himself to him and asked what he'd thought of the match. Jean trailed forlornly after them, startled when Jeremy addressed him, but Jeremy didn't seem deterred by his reflexive scowl and invited them to sit at the Hufflepuff table with him for lunch.

“Looks like Kevin isn't the only one with a crush on Jeremy Knox,” Neil whispered, still hanging back at Andrew's side. Andrew made a dismissive noise.

“Half the school has a crush on Jeremy Knox.”

“Oh?” Neil grinned. “Does that include you?”

Andrew made a horrified face and Neil laughed, tugging him through the door and over to the Slytherin table to sit with Allison and Renee.

Alright, so Andrew had had a minor thing for Jeremy back in fourth year, when he'd first hit his growth spurt and had been the one to force Andrew to integrate with the Hufflepuff team when everyone else had still been wary of his temper. Jeremy was fit, everyone with eyes in their head could see that, and his bumbling, cheerful nature could probably be considered charming, which made it all the more hilarious that Kevin Doomsday and Jean Mournful kept orbiting him like lovesick Billywigs.

At least Andrew had grown out of it in fifth year.

“Heey, little Snidget,” Allison greeted Neil, pulling him down into a hug. “How come I never see any hickeys on you? Don't tell me Minyard isn't the crazy possessive type of boyfriend who likes to mark what's his.”

“Maybe they're not in places you usually get to see,” Neil smirked, picking up an apple from a nearby bowl. Andrew had a sudden image of Neil's hipbones reverently ringed in blue and purple, lovebites superimposed on old, faded scars, and nearly knocked over the pumpkin juice. Next to him, Renee smothered a laugh in her sleeve.

“Aw, what a waste,” Allison pouted and reached out to tug at Neil's high collar. “The whole purpose of a hickey is to proudly display that you belong to someone.”

“Andrew doesn't own me,” Neil said, incredulous, but Allison only laughed and piled food on his plate.

“You need to eat more, murder boy. You're skinnier than my wand. How's your mother doing?”

“I, er, fine?” Neil stuttered, taken aback by the sudden change of topic.

“Good, good,” Allison said distractedly, “listen, I looked into the case of the Wesninski estates. The Ministry have seized all of them, right? On the grounds that they were acquired with crummy Galleons and all. But there's one house out in Wiltshire that was passed down to your father by his parents when they died, and at least half of the art in the Wesninski Gallery in Diagon should have belonged to your mother, not to mention what she should have got out of the divorce if things hadn't been rushed...”

She kept yammering on about property laws and Neil looked like he could barely follow but was trying anyway. Andrew had the weird urge to hold his hand under the table, which would have achieved nothing in terms of their fake relationship and probably made Neil even more uncomfortable, so he pulled both of his hands on top of the table and grabbed his knife and fork to cut up the vegetables in his soup.

“How are you, Andrew?” Renee asked him quietly, passing him the bread basket. Her eyes slid over to Neil. “Are you happy?”

“Delirious,” Andrew said.

“I think you two are very well-suited,” Renee told him with a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. Andrew wanted to say, yeah, except for the part where Neil isn't gay, but stuffed a piece of broccoli in his mouth instead.

“I know you went with him to his father's execution,” Renee said. Chewing slowly, Andrew thought of Nathan Wesninski's smile just before the Dementor had sucked out his soul; the way his aura had simply been extinguished like a candle flame. How they never told you what it looked like when a Dementor fed like this, or when they were sated, full to the brim.

It was really no wonder Neil had thrown up after.

“Are you okay?” Renee asked, lightly touching his elbow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Andrew shook his head.

“It's done,” he said quietly. “He's dead, or as close to it as it gets.”

His own words came back to haunt him – _abusers never die_ – and Renee seemed to know what he was thinking, because her smile turned bitter like overbrewed tea. They both glanced over to Neil at the same time, who was trying to explain to Allison that he didn't care about a bunch of abstract sculptures.

“He's doing really well, all things considered,” Renee murmured warmly. “I think it's good for him, that he can just be among his peers now. You're good for him.”

Andrew choked on a carrot.

“Oh Renee, you've got me confused with someone else again. I'm not good for anyone. I ruin things, remember?”

“No, you don't,” Renee said firmly, nudging his elbow again. “You're our friend.”

Andrew stared at her, baffled, and scrunched up his face in distaste.

“I don't have friends,” he spat, and Renee grinned brightly.

“That was a Sherlock quote, was it? I need to catch up over the holidays. I still think you should give Elementary a go.”

“Yes, yes,” Andrew sighed, “I will, if Nicky manages to get the TV fixed. Electricity in a magical household is a pain.”

“You should invite Neil to visit you over Christmas,” Renee suggested serenely. “I bet he's never seen a television before.”

Andrew speared the last vegetable in his soup with his fork and nibbled at it, watching Neil again as he congratulated Dan on Gryffindor's win. She was grinning, her short hair still damp from the shower, one arm around Matt who kept shouting “that's my girl!” to anyone who so much as looked their way.

He didn't know what Neil had planned for the holidays, if he was going to stay at Hogwarts or go home to his uncle's place to be with his mother. Andrew usually did whatever Aaron wanted to do, so they had spent most Christmases at the school in the past, even before fifth year's Riko Mori-Drama had sent Kevin seeking refuge with the Hufflepuffs. This year, though, Nicky had already made them promise that they would come home and celebrate with him and Erik, who'd graduated a year before Nicky and worked for Gringotts now. With Tilda gone perhaps Andrew could talk Nicky out of going to see his parents, something he tried about once a year and which invariably ended in tears.

It was well into December by the time Andrew finally decided to ask Neil. They were in the library, working on a Potions essay – or rather, Neil was doodling foxes and Snitches in the margins of his unfinished Potions essay, and Andrew had got distracted reading about Wolfsbane. Snow was falling thickly outside the windows and the library was draughty, but they were tucked into an alcove near a fireplace and Neil had somehow managed to sneak a flask of hot spiced pumpkin juice past the librarian that he was keeping under a warming charm.

“My grandmother wrote to me this morning,” Andrew said casually. “She finished your jumper.”

Neil, who had been absently chewing on the end of his quill, looked up.

“She really knitted me one?”

“She lives in Manchester,” Andrew shrugged. “Not much else she can do with all the rain there, other than knitting and terrorising her neighbours.”

“My grandmother used to breed Crups,” Neil said. “I don't really remember her, she died when I was five or six. But I remember this one Crup she had, he was crazy about me. He'd even let me climb on top of him and ride him around the house.”

“What happened to him?”

Neil's usually so expressive face shut down again, and he bent back over his parchment.

“My father,” he said dully. Andrew had that hot urge to reach out and take Neil's hand again and curled his hands into fists on his thighs.

“Do you want to come and visit me over the holidays,” he blurted out, trying to make it sound like he'd only just thought of it rather than agonised over it for two weeks. “You'll probably hate it,” he added quickly, “Nicky will be there with his nauseating boyfriend and my grandmother bakes tons of really awful fruitcake, and Katelyn's going to pester us all about going to church on Christmas Eve...”

“Tempting,” Neil grinned. “Sounds like something I should experience, as your boyfriend.”

“How long are we going to keep this up?” Andrew made himself ask.

“Letting everyone think we're boyfriends? I don't know, however long you want. I'm quite enjoying myself,” Neil said, a smile on his lips like a remnant of something sweet. “Aaron still jumps a mile whenever I talk to him. It's fun.”

He looked a little worried when Andrew didn't say anything for a long time, and pushed his parchment away with a sigh.

“Do you? Want to keep it up?” he asked. “Because I'd like to visit you for Christmas – I'll just have to talk to my mum about it – but if you don't want –”

“Good,” Andrew said, “that's settled then. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Neil smiled wryly and shrugged. “Can't be worse than Christmas at my place when my father was home.”

“I'll remind you you said that,” Andrew muttered. “Now write your damn essay.”

Neil made a face and pulled his parchment back in front of him to doodle more teapots for his Occamies to hide in. The moment he finished drawing one, they came alive on the page, wriggling around curiously and getting into fights with the foxes further up on the parchment.

Andrew wondered if Neil was using special ink or if it was simply his magic getting channelled through his quill. Then he wondered: if Neil drew himself and Andrew, would they kiss?

Fucking hormones. He had an essay to finish, damn it.

*

The last week of Quidditch practices got cancelled at Wymack's insistence. Kevin was heartbroken, but apart from him and Neil, no one was very keen on flying in the snow storm that was raging outside anyway. Andrew was happy to stake a claim on one of the blanket forts the Hufflepuffs traditionally built in the common room at this time of year and spent the extra time reading and avoiding everyone else.

In Divination, they had finally moved on to other topics that Bee thought would be covered in their N.E.W.T.s and Bee spent the last lesson before the holidays feeding them biscuits and talking to them about their plans after school. Katelyn chattered away happily about healer training, Renee wanted to travel; and Jean mumblingly admitted that he'd applied for an internship at an apothecary in Diagon Alley, though he didn't look particularly happy at the thought of having to interact with customers.

“What about you, Andrew?” Katelyn asked, patting Jean's shoulder. He was looking down at her hand like it was a poisonous spider and he didn't dare move lest it bite him, but Katelyn seemed oblivious to his discomfort.

“Me?” Andrew hummed and leaned back in his chair. “I'm going to design new flavours for Bertie Bott's beans.”

They laughed, and for the rest of the lesson, Bee had them do tarot spreads for each other and handed out another round of peppermint hot chocolate.

On the train ride back to London, Andrew sat sprawled on a seat with his feet in Neil's lap while Kevin, Aaron and Katelyn tried to play Exploding Snap on the seat opposite without a table. Neil was staring out the window at the snow, his eyes hard like the frozen ground. Andrew prodded him with his toe from time to time but Neil barely reacted, so he opened a box of chocolate frogs and let them all jump out at Neil. Even that only earned him an irritated glance.

“Someone's in the Crup house,” Aaron muttered when Neil left to go to the bathroom halfway through the journey. Katelyn elbowed him, jostling his cards which erupted in a cloud of smoke, and Aaron swore and yanked off his glasses to clean them on his shirt.

“Is he okay?” Katelyn asked Andrew, unperturbed by her boyfriend's plight. “ _Are_ you in the Crup house? Because I can talk to him if you need a mediator -”

“He's _fine_ ,” Andrew ground out. “Probably just bummed about going home. Wouldn't you be?”

Katelyn looked suitably chastised, though Aaron kept squinting suspiciously at him, like he still found it more likely that Andrew had done something to upset Neil.

That was fair, Andrew supposed. He didn't exactly have a track record of making people happy.

By the time they arrived in London, Neil's bad mood had rubbed off on Andrew. He merely grunted when Neil said he'd owl him about coming to visit and watched uneasily as Neil walked away to where his uncle was waiting for him. Kevin, too, he had to let go – he would be staying the holidays with Matt and Dan at Matt's mother's house, where he was as safe from Riko's shadow as he could be; yet Andrew felt like he was slowly being torn apart as they all walked away, Renee waving at him from where she was standing with her adoptive mother and Neil already gone without a backwards glance.

Nicky was waiting for them by the barrier, wearing a ridiculous Santa hat and Erik's cloak that was about three sizes too big on him. He looked like an overexcited puppy that had been playing in the snow.

“My favourite cousins!” he cried, jumping up and down, then couldn't decide whether to hug an exhausted Aaron first or a foul-tempered Andrew, so he went for Katelyn instead, who happily hugged him back. Nicky fussed over Andrew, made a few worried faces that his boyfriend wasn't seeing him off or coming with them, and then it was time for Andrew's least favourite part of going home.

“Alright, Katelyn, you know where to go, right? Andrew -”

“I'll take him,” Aaron said before Nicky could offer his hand for Side-Along. Andrew wasn't sure what to make of this and apparently Nicky wasn't either because he looked unhappily between the twins and had trouble not to let his smile crumple.

“Are you sure? You only just got your Apparition license in the spring...”

Aaron threw him his version of the patented unimpressed Minyard stare and held out his hand for Andrew. Katelyn tapped Nicky on the shoulder.

“Actually, if you don't mind, could you Side-Along me? I'm knackered after the journey,” she said, her smile firm on her lips. No one wanted to mention what had happened to Tilda only months before – well, no one apart from Andrew.

“Don't get us Splinched,” he told his brother, not in the least bit sorry when Nicky looked like someone had slapped him in the face and Katelyn cast a quick glance at Aaron, who looked stoically ahead.

“I won't.”

“Good,” Andrew said. “Wouldn't want to end up with your toe nails on my feet.”

Nicky laughed nervously and Andrew grabbed a hold of Aaron's arm, ignoring the offered hand. There was a crack and a nauseating pull, like someone was squeezing him through a narrow tube, and then they landed on the dirty, unkempt lawn outside of Tilda's house; Aaron stumbling in a puddle of sludge and swearing, Andrew bending over with his hands braced on his knees until he had his breath back.

He _hated_ Apparating.

Nicky and Katelyn appeared effortlessly in front of the gates, not the least bit off-balance, and Nicky immediately looked around for them, relieved to see that they were still in one piece. Two pieces. Whatever. Andrew dragged his suitcase after him and waited for Aaron to unlock the door with his wand, then went straight upstairs to his bedroom, too tired to deal with Nicky's and Katelyn's friendly chatter. He fumbled about with the fireplace, his fingers numb from the wet cold of the countryside, threw the useless matches in a corner and poked the wood with his wand, but it only produced feeble green sparks, so he tossed it after the matches and wrapped himself in a blanket instead.

Because he was feeling contrary, he yanked the window open, the wood so warped by age and damp that it barely gave; raining a shower of flaked paint in his lap. His lighter remained elusive, so he picked the matches back up and went through half the packet before he managed to light his cigarette. With a huff, he sat on the heavy painted wooden chest that was shoved under his window, pulled the blanket tighter around himself and blew smoke out into the wet air, the distant sound of Muggle traffic a familiar backdrop to the misery of being back home.

He was staring unseeingly at the lights of the nearest small town on the horizon when he noticed a dull shape heaving its way through the dusk toward him. For a while, he watched it struggle – it was an owl, a bit on the small side – something was wrong with it, feathers bent out of shape like someone had treated it roughly. Andrew moved aside to let it land on the discoloured window sill and it hooted indignantly at him, as if complaining about its strenuous flight.

Since when had animals started talking to him? Was it something about Neil that had rubbed off on him?

Tossing his cigarette away so the owl didn't have to breathe in his smoke, Andrew untied the letter from its leg. It was torn on one side and Andrew wondered if there had been a storm nearby that the owl had got caught in on its way. There was no name on the envelope, so he pried the slip of parchment free and smoothed it out, squinting in the fading light.

_Andrew,_

_I'm sorry, I can't come to your place after all. I'll explain after the holidays. Have a nice Christmas._

_Neil_

_PS: I still have your lighter_

It was just a hastily scribbled note, not even decorated with one of Neil's beloved fox paw doodles, and the last word was almost obscured by an ink blotch. Andrew let it drop to the floor. He felt tired, a clammy weight settling in his stomach that had nothing to do with Apparition or being back home. The owl hooted softly, questioningly, and when Andrew shook his head to indicate he wasn't sending a reply it hopped over the edge of the window sill and took off.

He'd never much cared for Christmas. There was no reason to start caring now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a really cool meta on genetics in the Harry Potter world [here](http://dduane.tumblr.com/post/28285496724/i-sent-this-paper-to-jk-rowling-explaining-how-the) if anyone is interested :)


	6. Mince pies and knitted jumpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a fight with Aaron, Andrew takes matters into his own hands and goes to find Neil. Also, we finally get to meet the Minyard twins' grandmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: homophobia/mention of someone being outed against their will, visions again, brief allusion to past abuse
> 
> Many thanks once again to all the good souls who left comments, and to my beta Janie for teaching me the proper use of commas and Britpicking and telling me nice things about my writing <3
> 
> I am very sorry I scared you all with the ending of the last chapter, I promise it's not as bad as some of you thought! In fact, this might just be my favourite chapter... enjoy :)

The worst part about Neil not coming over, Andrew decided as he took the fifth tray of mince pies out of the oven at seven in the morning, was that Nicky and Katelyn were now convinced that they'd had a fight, and that Andrew must be the one who had done something to scare Neil off. They kept subtly questioning him about it, and at some point even Erik cornered him in the kitchen after dinner and gave him the “being gay and out isn't easy” talk. Andrew had had to go for a very long walk in the pitch dark to cool off before he murdered Nicky's future husband with a bread knife.

At least Aaron had kept quiet – so far.

Andrew had just finished wolfing down his second mince pie when the kitchen door creaked open and a half-asleep Aaron padded in, dressed in the same ratty blue bathrobe that Tilda had given him for his twelfth birthday. It was a little short on him now, the colour faded, and the charm that had kept the stars moving around in the flannel had apparently stopped working as well.

“Oh,” he mumbled when he saw Andrew at the table and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Morning.”

Andrew bit into his third mince pie and stared studiously into space.

“Can I have one?” Aaron said, gesturing at the pies. Andrew shrugged so he took one, hissing when it was still hot, though he took a bite a moment later; steam rising from the filling and fogging up his glasses. “Hey, so,” he said slowly, then had to stop and clear his throat. “You heard from Neil?”

“No,” Andrew said, throat clicking as he swallowed.

“Bummer.”

“Since when do you care,” Andrew asked him, reaching for another mince pie. He'd probably make himself throw up before breakfast at this rate, but he hated just sitting there with nothing between him and his brother.

“I just,” Aaron murmured around a mouthful of mincemeat. “You seemed like you were looking forward to it.” And, after a pause: “You don't often look forward to things.”

Andrew snorted, and crammed the rest of his mince pie into his mouth before getting up. He left the mess in the kitchen for someone else to sort out – probably Nicky – and grabbed another envelope of the shitty matches in the clutter drawer because he'd given his stupid lighter to Neil to play with the last time they'd sat on the Astronomy tower together. In his letter Neil had only had the grace to rub it in and not to send it back.

“For what it's worth,” Aaron said, his voice an invisible string tugging Andrew to a stop just inside the door, “I don't actually mind you, uh – you being with him.”

“Oh?” Andrew couldn't stop himself. “I remember the tantrum you threw in fourth year when you found me snogging the Gryffindor Beater in the broom shed. Was that just a joke? I remember what you said when Seth Gordon told the entire Great Hall at breakfast about it, and I've seen the look on your face every time I so much as breathe in N- in a guy's direction. What's changed, Aaron? Don't tell me you've grown up, that's a shitty excuse.”

Saying Neil's name out loud was too hard right now and Andrew clamped his lips shut against all the things he still wanted to throw in Aaron's face. For once, Aaron didn't get angry, though. That in itself should have tipped him off that this was serious.

“You're happier,” Aaron said, helplessly, his hands bunched in his lap like he didn't know what else to do with them. “I want – damn it, Andrew, I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, right,” Andrew snapped. “And what a brilliant job you made of it.”

Aaron crumpled.

“I didn't want you to have to go through the same things Nicky did.”

It was so quiet Andrew almost didn't catch it. Something sickly clenched in his stomach and Andrew stomped it out viciously: hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing. Every time you let yourself hope, you were setting yourself up for disappointment.

“Fuck you,” he said slowly. “You're just like your mother.”

His back was turned on Aaron, but he felt the way the words bit into Aaron like the sting of a bee, something desperate, useless, a final thrashing before Andrew gave up. He walked out of the kitchen and the house, not seeing where he went, frost crunching under his slippers and clinging to his trouser legs.

In the distance, the traffic still roared. Andrew clawed at his arms, shaking, and didn't look back.

*

The funny thing about the Knight Bus was that you could summon it even if you were a Squib.

Andrew stood at the side of the road, wand in one hand, a small pile of Sickles and Knuts in the other that he'd pried out of the depths of the cloak he'd grabbed on his way out of the house. It was Erik's cloak, probably, but he didn't feel guilty about taking the money since Erik always tried to give him some anyway; like Andrew still needed pocket money, like Erik wasn't just two years older than him.

Andrew had never had pocket money in his life. He'd taken what he and Aaron needed for school from Tilda's purse and sometimes Nicky had pitched in when they ran out of something during the school year. The only extravagances he allowed himself were the trolley sweets on the first of September and his racing broom.

The conductor tried to make small talk. Andrew ignored him, dropped his money in the till and tried to remember where Neil's uncle's house was.

Neil had said something about a German Christmas market in Birmingham to Nicky, so Andrew told the driver to take him there. He didn't have enough coins left for hot chocolate and made his way upstairs to the top deck, teeth chattering. There were thankfully no other passengers and he sank down on one of the rickety beds, pulling the duvet over his shoulders. It smelled musty, like stale tea leaves, and there was a smear of something that looked like toothpaste on the window.

The sun rose sluggishly, faded greens and greys peeking through the mist. Andrew wished he'd taken some of his mince pies. One by one the Knight Bus dropped off its passengers, landscapes banging and scraping into existence beyond the windows and disappearing again, the bus an erratic, temperamental beast billowing purple exhaust fumes and silver sparks.

It was still early when they rolled to a jerky stop in an alley off Victoria Square. Andrew climbed off the bus, blinking in the grey light, and made his way over to the first booths at the periphery of the square. The market was still closed, the small wooden huts boarded up, colourful flags and signs swimming in the mist like boats lost at sea. Muggles hurried past him on their way to work, their hats pulled low over their faces. The town hall stood towering and forbidding above it all and Andrew became miserably aware that he was still wearing his soaked slippers and a bulky coat several sizes too big and that he had no idea where to go.

His breath rose in white, wet whorls in front of his face. He decided to just walk the periphery of the market, shivering in the cold; then he turned down New Street on a whim and followed the parade of stalls until something drew him down a smaller side street. The shops were just opening up, dusty antiques and curious curiosities, and Andrew entertained himself for a while trying to pick out the most hideous thing in each window and deciding which ones he would get for Kevin and Renee if he had the money.

He walked past a nondescript red brick building that had been a Muggle post office once, then doubled back. There was something...

He looked again and the writing on the signs changed. Two small brass owls appeared on posts outside the front doors and a harried looking witch that Andrew hadn't noticed before breezed past him and shouldered her way through the door. He followed her inside and was greeted with the soft hooting of owls, the rustling of feathers and the smell of hay and parchment. A small queue had formed in front of the counter and Andrew looked around until he saw a chunky fireplace off to the side.

When he reached the front of the queue he asked the witch behind the counter for Floo powder.

“That'll be four Knuts a pinch,” she said, her smile like a reflex trained by years of customer service. Andrew dug the last of his coins out of Erik's cloak and the witch held out a dish of Floo powder so he could take some.

The fire in the fireplace was sullen and low but flared bright green when Andrew tossed in the powder. He stepped inside, the flames lapping at his cloak, and said “the Hatford estate,” hoping it would be enough.

The fire died.

Heart sinking, Andrew stepped back out of the fireplace and knelt down to check if he'd accidentally stamped it out. There were no more customers at the moment and the witch at the counter leaned over her desk and cleared her throat.

“Looks like it's not connected to the network, hon,” she called over. “Don't worry about the fire, I'll get it going again in a moment. You want another pinch?”

Andrew thought morosely of going back home and shook his head. The witch bustled over, rolling back her sleeves, and just as she was pointing her wand at the fireplace there was a crack and Andrew had to take a hasty step back from the wand tip suddenly pointed at his face. The witch let out a shriek, stumbling away from the fireplace; then she seemed to recognise the man who had just Apparated into her post office and smoothed down her robes with a huff.

“Now really, Mr Hatford, there's no reason to scare my customers like that!”

Slowly, Stuart Hatford let his wand sink, though he didn't put it away. He looked around the office with suspicion in his eyes; then his gaze trailed over Andrew, landing at last on his muddy slippers.

“Mr Minyard,” he said lightly, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason you were trying to use my Floo just now?”

“I,” Andrew said. “I want to see Neil.”

The witch was still watching them curiously and Stuart seemed to realise this at the same time, because he motioned for Andrew to follow him out into the street. They walked in silence for a while, Stuart's eyes darting left and right like he expected someone to jump out and attack them at any moment, which was rich, considering he'd just had his wand up in Andrew's face only moments ago.

“Mr Hatford?” Andrew said through gritted teeth when Stuart had turned them down yet another cramped alleyway. Stuart stopped outside an abandoned boutique and turned to face him.

“You'll have to forgive me,” he sighed. “Things have been... complicated. My sister had a few very troubling visions and we've decided to take some safety precautions for now.”

“Safety precautions?” Andrew asked. “But Nathan...”

“Yes, certainly,” Stuart said, distracted. “But Nathan wasn't the only problem. About two dozen of his – associates – were also seized in the days following his arrest. They are currently in Azkaban, but several more are still on the loose, either because the Aurors weren't aware of them or couldn't prove they were involved in the, ah, business.”

“And you think one of them is out to get you?”

“Not me, specifically,” Stuart said, weighing his words carefully. “We think they are more interested in Nathaniel. Hence we are keeping him inside for now. I'm sure you understand.”

“No, I don't,” Andrew snapped. “What would they want with Neil? I thought all of the Wesninski vaults and estates were seized by the Ministry. He doesn't have any money, or...”

“I can't possibly tell you,” Stuart said with a grimace, and held up his hand when Andrew was about to protest again. “I cannot tell you because my sister will not tell me. I trust her judgement, though. All I know is that they might be seeking revenge, since Nathaniel testified against them at their trials.”

Andrew balled his hands into fists and stuck them in his pockets under the cloak. He looked around, trying to think of something to say, and then demanded, “I want to see Neil.”

Stuart looked resigned for a moment before nodding.

“I will take you to him. But first I need to make sure that you are really who you are claiming to be. Tell me, what is Nathaniel's favourite colour?”

“I... don't know,” Andrew muttered, racking his brain. Neil had never told him.

“Alright. When you came with us to Azkaban, what shape did the Patronus take that patrolled when they brought in the Dementor?”

“A lynx, I think?”

“Good,” Stuart said, nodding. Before Andrew could say anything else he had placed his hand on Andrew's shoulder and Disapparated.

They reappeared on a windy, winding country lane and Andrew had to double over and force himself not to retch. Stuart waited politely for him to get himself under control, then led the way up the path at a brisk pace. Dark blue clouds were clotting up the sky and patches of frozen snow clung to the grass either way of the path. They passed a gate and Stuart waved his wand around in complex patterns until it opened, then again at a smaller gate. Finally a large grey house loomed into view, so suddenly that Andrew knew it must have been hidden behind spells up until this point. They entered through a side door and found themselves in a spacious foyer with chequerboard tiles, no portraits or furniture save for a battered old umbrella stand beside the front door.

A grey cat slunk down the staircase at the other end of the room. Mary Hatford stepped out silently onto the landing, her wand held casually aloft.

“The last words I said to you?” she asked Stuart, who undid the clasp on his drab brown cloak and folded it over his arm.

“If it's Lola, run.”

Mary's face turned grim.

“Damn right.” She turned to Andrew, wand still in hand. “Nathaniel's favourite flavour of Bertie Bott's beans?”

“Blueberry,” Andrew said, scowling up at her. “But they look the same as the red cabbage ones, so he never eats them.”

Mary nodded, satisfied, and lowered her wand. A second cat had come to greet Stuart and a third was curled up against Neil's shoulder when he came out onto the landing behind Mary.

“Andrew, what are you doing here?”

Andrew shrugged and handed his cloak over to Stuart, who took it away with both cats at his heels. He looked down at his dirty slippers and toed them off by the door, though his socks were just as wet. Mary watched him, thin-lipped and impenetrable, and Neil came halfway down the stairs to meet him.

“Come on, I'll show you my room.”

“Don't forget about lunch,” Mary called after them, her arms crossed loosely in front of her thin chest.

They took a strange, circuitous route through the house, each corridor with a different floor pattern and the walls devoid of portraits, pictures or mirrors. Neil was carrying the cat, a purring, three-legged creature with stubs for ears and a scar over one eye. He set it down gently in a basket in his room, which was far too big for what little Neil kept in it in terms of possessions. There was a messy bed pushed into a corner, a green quilt thrown haphazardly on top of rumpled sheets. A book case stood empty except for the cat basket. Curtains hung lank in front of the windows, Neil's trunk was abandoned at the foot of his bed, clothes spilling out. A wardrobe stood open, a Quidditch poster hastily taped to one door and peeling at one corner, the insides bare except for a few spare robes. Scraps of parchment grew like weeds on the surface of a heavy desk, sketches crowding each other out in multi-coloured ink.

“I thought you didn't have pets,” Andrew said, eyeing the cat in its basket.

“Oh, Porridge? She's not mine,” Neil smiled and reached over to scratch under the cat's chin. She purred louder, pushing her head into his cupped palm. “She just likes sleeping here, and eating all of my spiders, don't you, munchkin?”

The cat blinked slowly at him and licked his thumb.

“So,” Andrew said conversationally, perching on the edge of Neil's desk, where a stick figure on a broom was chasing after a scribbly Quaffle. “Why, exactly, are your father's people after you?”

Neil stiffened where he was still bent over the cat.

“I don't know,” he said. _Lie_. “Stuart talk to you?”

“He didn't know,” Andrew said, “but you do, so stop lying to me.”

Slowly, Neil straightened up and pulled at a strand of his hair. The cat – Porridge, who named their cat Porridge? - chirruped at him, hoping for more chin scratches, but Neil ignored her, staring off into space.

“I can't – I can't tell you,” he hedged. “I'm sorry, Andrew. Not right now.”

“Not right now,” Andrew echoed. “But some day?”

“I – alright. Just... don't ask me about it, okay? You'll know when... when it's time.”

Andrew nodded, accepting this, and picked up one of Neil's sketches. It was an unfinished portrait of Kevin, not half bad, the style fleeting and untidy like the hand that had drawn it had been distracted halfway through.

“You could have told me, in your letter.”

“My uncle thought our owls might be intercepted,” Neil said sheepishly. “I sent that one when he wasn't looking but I didn't want to write too much, in case he was right.”

Andrew shrugged and looked away. His stomach growled loudly into the silence and suddenly Neil was laughing again.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” he asked, indulging Porridge when she batted at his hand for more petting.

Andrew shrugged and nodded. It wasn't like he was going to be missed at home and he didn't feel like going through the discomfort of Side-Along Apparition again so soon after the first one, so he might as well stay a bit longer now that he was here.

*

Lunch with the Hatfords was an awkward affair.

They sat around a table that was meant to host a lot more than just four people, Mary at the head picking at her meal, several cats winding around their legs begging Stuart for scraps, and Neil sitting beside Andrew with his leg bouncing a mile a minute; pushing all of his vegetables to one side of his plate. Mary frowned but didn't scold him for it and Stuart attempted some small-talk, asking Andrew about his favourite subjects and what he had planned for the rest of the holidays, though Andrew wasn't very forthcoming in his answers.

Neil jumped up when the single elderly house elf came back to collect their plates and offer dessert and helped him clear the table. The house elf merely huffed, like he was used to this behaviour but didn't condone it, and Stuart kindly asked him to bring them some tea and a few treats for the cats.

By the time the tea came Andrew was feeling oddly foggy, and when Mary asked Neil if he'd done his homework yet, the words sounded muffled and far away in his ears. No one else seemed affected, so it hadn't been the food, and Andrew sat mulling this over and staring at his teacup for several minutes. Black spots started to dance in front of his vision and there was a stabbing pain in his temples. When he looked down at his hands, they were clamped around his forearms, white-knuckled and shaking.

Fuck.

He blacked out before he could warn Neil, and when he came to again his ears were ringing, the pain in his head was worse and he was lying on the tiled floor. Maybe he really did need that epilepsy helmet back. Nausea reared its head like a panicked animal and he pulled himself up on his elbows and gagged, trying with all his might to keep his lunch down; suddenly there was a cool hand on his shoulder, gripping hard.

“Quick now, tell me what you saw.”

“Azkaban,” Andrew gasped before he knew what he was saying. “Mass breakout.”

Then everything went black again.

*

“Hey,” Neil whispered, perched on the side of his bed with a wet flannel curled limply in his hand. He looked pale in the light of his bedside lamp and Andrew rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the image. Porridge the cat had curled up by Andrew's side, one mangled paw flung over her little face in sleep.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Andrew muttered, slowly sitting up. He was in Neil's bed, the blankets pulled up to his chin, the front of his jumper damp. He wondered if he'd thrown up after all, and who had cleaned him up. Neil held out a glass of water to him and he drank, but the sour taste in his mouth wouldn't go away.

“Here, my mum said to chew this,” Neil said, handing over a couple of dried leaves. Andrew couldn't discern what they were, but stuck them in his mouth anyway. They tasted faintly citrusy.

“Time's it?” Andrew asked groggily. It looked dark outside, which was unnerving – he didn't usually pass out for this long.

“Five,” Neil said. “You, erm, wouldn't stop thrashing when we tried to move you, so my uncle gave you some Dreamless Sleep.”

Something churned in Andrew's gut at the thought of being sedated like this. Neil could apparently see it on his face because he winced.

“Sorry about that. You were bleeding and...”

_I was worried_ , he didn't say. Andrew didn't let it echo in his head either – he couldn't think about these things right now. Or ever. He lifted a hand to feel the side of his head where he'd smashed it open on the tiles of the dining room, but Stuart must have fixed him up since there was only a small bump left.

“You can stay here tonight if you want,” Neil offered quietly. “I don't mind sharing my bed. We, uh, there are guest rooms, but no furniture. Uncle Stuart's a bit of a minimalist and he already gave up the two rooms that had beds to mum and me.”

“And what are they going to say about this arrangement?” Andrew sneered. “Did you tell them we were boyfriends too or are they in on the joke?”

“Um, they sort of – assumed,” Neil admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you mind? I can talk to them – they left for the Ministry, though, to see the Aurors about your vision, I don't know when they'll be back...”

“Whatever,” Andrew said quickly, picking at a thread on Neil's green quilt. “I'll need to borrow some clothes.”

“Sure,” Neil said easily, then grinned. “They won't be black, though. Can you handle that?”

So Andrew stayed.

Neil showed him the bathroom and ran him a hot bath in an old, claw-footed bathtub. There was no way to adjust the temperature and Neil told him to just do it with his wand, then left him alone with a towel and his most lurid pair of pyjamas. Andrew had to wait twenty minutes for the water to cool enough so it wouldn't burn his skin. When he came out Neil teased him that he must be all wrinkly after spending so long in the bath. Stuart's old house elf brought them sandwiches and pumpkin juice and they ate sitting on the floor of Neil's room arguing about Quidditch, of all things, but somehow Andrew wasn't bored.

“How come you don't have an Apparition license? You were old enough to take the course last year, weren't you?” Neil asked him when their sandwiches were gone and the house elf had forced two cups of warm milk with honey and spices on them. Neil wrinkled his nose at his but dutifully drank it.

“Apparating is gross,” Andrew said. “How come you don't have one?”

“I was going to take the test at the Ministry, but then – you know. The Aurors raided our house and everything sort of got put on hold. And then my mum suddenly wanted me to go to Hogwarts and somehow we just never got around to it. I'll take it with the sixth years in spring.”

“Why did your mother send you to Hogwarts?” Andrew asked, frowning. “She seems quite...”

“Overprotective?” Neil grinned. “Yeah. I don't know, it surprised me, too. I figure either she saw something in her mirror or she thought it was safer for me there.”

He shrugged and stretched his legs out in front of him. For a guy his size they were really long. Andrew tore his eyes away from the way the muscles of Neil's beautifully sculpted thighs were visible under the thin cotton of his pyjama pants and leaned his head back against the mattress of the bed behind him.

“Maybe she thought you needed a boyfriend,” he joked. Neil laughed.

“Yeah, right. I'm surprised she and my uncle haven't vetted you to hell and back yet. You don't want to know what my mum did the last time I talked to a girl my age when we held one of those bogus fundraisers at our house and we sneaked away to look at my father's brooms.”

“What did she do,” Andrew said, curious, but the amusement dropped from Neil's face like water running down a duck's plumage.

“You don't want to know,” he said again, hollowly, and Andrew didn't press.

Mary and Stuart didn't come back until late that night. Andrew and Neil were already in bed, pretending to be asleep – Andrew was, anyway; Neil was so unnaturally still and quiet next to him that Andrew wasn't sure if that was just normal sleep mode for him or if he was faking as well. Andrew lay with his back to the wall and listened to the sounds of muffled conversation down the hall, then pipes clanking somewhere in the bowels of the house. Shortly after that a door clicked shut very close by, followed by another, this one further away; and then there was silence.

Neil's still body was radiating heat. He'd thrown off the extra blanket which Andrew had seen as permission to hog it for himself, though with Neil so close he didn't even really need it. It smelled like Neil though, outdoorsy and like his ginger hair cleaning potion and a little bit like cat. Andrew buried his face in the soft fabric and tried to think unarousing things.

Luckily, he was quite good at that.

It still took him a long time to fall asleep after having been out for most of the afternoon. He spent it listening to Neil's soft breathing, tensing every time he thought he couldn't hear it anymore, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Porridge the cat landed on the mattress between them out of nowhere and lay down, pressed close to Andrew's chest.

“Pest,” Andrew whispered and Porridge sighed and purred in reply.

She was still there in the morning, tucked into the backs of Andrew's knees, a warm, sleepy weight that he couldn't place right away. He squeezed his eyes shut against the daylight and burrowed further into the pillow, inhaling deeply, and then someone laughed softly somewhere to his left.

“Your hair looks worse than Kevin's in the morning,” Neil remarked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress to tie his shoes. He was dressed in flying gear and his broom was propped up against the wall beside the headboard. “I'm going out for a fly, you want to come? You could borrow Stuart's old Cleansweep...”

He shut up at the scathing look Andrew sent his way and grinned.

“Never mind. I won't be long. Call for Tatty if you want breakfast, he makes excellent eggs.”

He left, and Andrew felt bereft of his warmth and dug himself deeper into the blanket pile he had amassed around himself over night. Porridge made a tiny noise of complaint but didn't leave her spot by his legs, and the two of them dozed for another half an hour until Andrew finally dragged himself out of bed and to the bathroom to put his contacts in and clean his teeth.

Neil gave him clothes to wear when he came back and disappeared to take a shower. Andrew got dressed and awkwardly asked the empty room for a cup of tea. Tatty the house elf appeared a moment later with a steaming mug and a plate of toast and scrambled eggs, tutting over his late breakfast, and when he was almost done eating there was a knock on the door and Stuart stuck his head in to ask if he needed a Side-Along back home before he left for work.

Andrew sighed and nodded. He should probably get back before Nicky wet his pants about his disappearance.

He said goodbye to Neil, who was just stumbling out of the bathroom with his wand pointed at his head, blowing an erratic stream of warm air into his hair to dry it, which explained why he always had those awful cowlicks. He ignored the disappointment on Neil's face – of course he was disappointed, he was cooped up on the estate all day with no one but a grumbly old house elf for company, it had nothing to do with Andrew – and accepted his cloak back from Stuart.

“See you back at school,” Neil said glumly, trailing after them into the foyer. Porridge kept trying to trip Andrew up so Neil nestled her against his shoulder again and she meowed pitifully at Andrew.

“I'll bring your jumper,” Andrew promised, sliding back into his slippers with as much grace as he could muster. Tatty must have cleaned them over night, but they were just going to get muddy again on the walk back to the Apparition point.

“I want mince pies, too,” Neil pouted, rubbing his cheek against Porridge. She started purring again but meowed when Stuart held open the door for Andrew.

“No promises,” Andrew said. “I'll probably eat them all.”

“Don't leave the grounds,” Stuart reminded Neil, who rolled his eyes. He followed them to the door and watched them walk away, waving with one of Porridge's remaining paws until they were out of sight, and Andrew clutched his bundle of clothes to him and tried to brace himself for Apparating when Stuart reached for his shoulder.

*

It was humiliating, having to knock on the door to his own house, but Andrew's fingers were cold and clammy and his wand kept slipping from his grasp. It was an old beaten-up thing that he had bought second hand off a dodgy vendor on the Knockturn end of Diagon Alley after making a few careful inquiries, because he hadn't wanted to stand around in Ollivander's shop for hours when he already knew that no wand would be a good fit; besides, he'd wanted to sneak the money into Aaron's pile so he could buy himself an owl. It had come in handy later, because whenever he failed to perform a spell in a practical exam he could just make the wand spit smoke and sparks and pretend it wasn't working properly, and the professors would glance at his hand-me-down robes and threadbare book bag with pity in their eyes and let him pass anyway. After all, his twin could do these things, so it was easy to believe that Andrew could have as well, if only he'd had a better wand.

For his O.W.L.s, Andrew had simply not shown up to his practicals, except for Divination, Herbology and Potions, and since he'd aced all of the exams he did take, no one questioned why he chose only classes that didn't require a lot of spellwork for his N.E.W.T.s.

After another moment of fiddling unsuccessfully with the lock, the door swung open and Erik peered out at him, his eyes bloodshot and last year's knitted Christmas jumper on back-to-front. He stared at Andrew for a moment, then muttered “oh, thank God,” and stepped aside to let him in before casting a Patronus that darted off into the field beyond the house, faster than Andrew imagined a real bear to be. Confused, Andrew stepped into the house and found it empty; there was an array of abandoned teacups on the kitchen table and the fireplace was lit but only just barely. Erik, it seemed, had been in the process of knitting what looked like an endless Hufflepuff scarf, the yellow wool garish in the dank gloom of the cramped sitting room.

“Where is everyone?” Andrew said, kicking his ruined slippers off and tossing Erik's cloak over the banister of the stairs. He went into the kitchen and took one of the remaining mince pies, though they weren't as good cold as they were piping hot from the oven.

“Looking for you,” Erik said dryly as he leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his ridiculously wide chest. His biceps were insane and Andrew wanted to pitch a fit about the unfairness of him being so fit _and_ so tall at the same time.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Andrew scoffed and waved him away, rooting through the empty pantry. There was a stale packet of crackers left over from the summer, a box of Earl Grey that Tilda had left behind and no one wanted to drink, some biscuit crumbs, a dented tin of baked beans and some mouldy bread that Andrew threw out.

“Why do we never have any food,” he muttered bitterly and grabbed the loose-leaf English Breakfast off the shelf with a sigh. At least death omens were easier to stomach than Earl Grey.

“Andrew,” Erik said, his usually gentle voice so dry it threatened to crumble under the weight of an undefined emotion. “You disappeared without a trace. No note, no owl, no Floo call, nothing. Your family was worried sick, we thought something had happened to you. Don't you have anything to say?”

Before Andrew could answer the front door burst open and several pairs of feet came running in, a few confused shouts jostling for space in the narrow hallway. Frozen, Andrew let the kettle in his hands overflow, and the water ran over his hands and sloshed merrily down the drain.

“Andrew!”

“Fucking hell -”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“We thought you were dead!”

They looked like Bowtruckles, leaves in their hair and branches stuck in their clothes, a smear of dirt on Katelyn's cheek and mud stuck to their shoes. Nicky sank against Erik, his knees buckling under him, while Aaron stood white-faced in the doorway and Katelyn went straight for Andrew, grabbing him by the front of Neil's jumper which he was still wearing.

“What the _fuck_ , Andrew,” she snapped, looking livid and more than a little deranged with her hair in a dirty cloud around her face, raining bits of twigs on Andrew's shoulders. “We searched for you all fucking night – do you have any idea – _where_ have you been?”

Andrew opened his mouth and closed it again. No sound came out.

“You just ran off,” Katelyn concluded from his stunned silence. “Because you weren't thinking about what it would look like to us, or maybe it didn't occur to you that we'd _care_ -”

“Of course he knows that,” Nicky interrupted with a nervous laugh. He turned to Andrew with big, watery eyes. “You do, don't you?”

Again, Andrew didn't answer. Katelyn turned off the icy cold water that was still running over his hands.

“You're such a dick,” she said fiercely, her eyes red as if she'd recently been crying. She crossed her arms under her chest and looked him up and down. “Well? Are you hurt?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Good,” she said, her voice cracking a little halfway through. “Then I'm taking a shower.”

She stalked off without another word, leaving a ghastly silence behind. Erik was the first to shake himself off and came over to take the kettle from Andrew. He lifted the teapot down from its shelf, spooned tea leaves into a strainer and gathered up the used mugs still scattered over the table to rinse them in the sink.

“We really were worried,” Nicky bleated sadly in his corner, looking beseechingly at Andrew.

“I have to owl Renee and the others,” Aaron muttered, about to turn away when Nicky grabbed his arm.

“Oh no,” he said, “no, I think that can wait five more minutes. Remember what we talked about yesterday?”

Aaron glared at him, his jaw clenched.

“When you weren't coming back,” Nicky explained for Andrew's benefit, though he was still looking at Aaron, “Katelyn bullied him into telling us about your little brotherly conversation. We had kind of a long talk, Aaron and I, and then Erik had another long talk with him, and then Katelyn also had a talk with him, and in the end he agreed that there was something he had to do – Aaron?”

There was a long, sullen silence, and then Aaron looked at the floor and put his hands in his pockets.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible. “For being a homophobic shithead.”

“And?” Nicky prompted.

“I don't mind you being with Neil and I hope you two make each other happy,” Aaron recited, looking like he'd accidentally taken a sip of cold coffee. Andrew rolled his eyes and tried to swallow, but there was something caught in his throat and he was tempted to just throw it in their faces that his “relationship” with Neil was all pretend – nothing more than a practical joke – a stupid prank they'd all fallen for, but somehow he couldn't form the words.

“Whatever,” he said instead, shoulders pulled up against the excruciating awkwardness of the situation, and grabbed another mince pie. He looked down at it, worked his jaw around some more words and finally muttered: “I didn't mean to stay out that long,” which was as close to an apology as he could get without spontaneously combusting.

Nicky, always the soft one, melted on the spot.

“It's okay, you're home now and that's all that counts,” he sighed, then let go of Aaron. “We might have, er, sent out a lot of emergency owls to our friends though, in case you were with one of them, so maybe you could help Aaron write a follow-up to let them know you're alright?”

Andrew sighed bitterly and waited until the tea was done before grabbing two mugs and following Aaron into the living room. They spent half an hour penning notes to Renee and the others and gave them to Aaron's and Erik's owls to deliver, by which time Katelyn came back from her shower wearing a towel turban and Aaron's ratty old bathrobe, and threw herself down onto the creaky old sofa.

“So where were you anyway?” she asked Andrew. “While we were all going crazy thinking you'd been murdered and left in a ditch in the forest to rot?”

“With Neil,” Andrew mumbled, poking his wand at the unresponsive fireplace. Instead of the kindling, the tip of his wand ignited, and Andrew hurriedly extinguished it under a blanket.

“I thought you two were fighting?” Katelyn said bluntly and pointed her wand at the fireplace. Flames erupted neatly on top of the wood, suffusing them with warmth. It had started raining again and the drops pummelled the tin window sills, the noise deafening even inside the house. “Wait, did you go to his place to apologise? What'd he say? Did you bring him flowers? Oh my god, did you stay the whole night with him?!”

“What's that?” Nicky stuck his head inside, on his way to the shower with a towel flung over his shoulder. “Andrew stayed the night with whom?”

“Neil!” Katelyn sang out gleefully. “Have you guys talked to him about the Snidgets and the Billywigs yet? Andrew, I hope you were safe -”

“You did _what_?” Nicky screeched, dropping his towel.

Andrew put his face in his hands. It was going to be a long day.

*

The twins' grandmother came on Christmas Day, bringing with her several baskets of food, a half year's ration of questionable fruit cake and a small Christmas tree she had run over with her car by accident and decided it might as well be installed in their living room and covered in garlands. Nicky eyed her old beaten-up car with abject suspicion – she refused to give it up even though she could Apparate without trouble and it was being held together with more Spellotape than Aaron's old copy of The Tales Of Beedle The Bard by now.

“This house is a dump,” she growled, levitating her baskets onto the kitchen table and nearly knocking Aaron out with the Christmas tree. “Katelyn, you need to be stricter with these boys, they need to learn to pick up after themselves.”

“With all due respect, that's not my job, Mrs Minyard,” Katelyn sniffed, but she bent down to let the tiny woman hug her anyway.

Ada Minyard grunted, patting Katelyn's hip, then sent Nicky and Erik to de-gnome the garden and set the twins to work scrubbing the kitchen and putting the food away.

“No magic!” she barked at Aaron when he took out his wand. She was notoriously suspicious of magic when simple elbow grease could accomplish the task just as well – better, in her opinion – though Andrew had a feeling she was playing it up to spare him the indignity of failing to perform basic cleaning charms, and for a more even distribution of the workload. Ada and Katelyn went to rid the living room of dust and grime and decorate the squashed little tree, and when Aaron and Andrew were done in the kitchen, Ada made them clean out the fireplace and carry her luggage upstairs into Tilda's old room.

For dinner, she had Erik show her how to make German dumplings and between them they produced enough dumplings to feed a small army. The kitchen table wasn't big enough for all of them, so Andrew and Aaron carried it out into the living room and Aaron transformed the coffee table into an extension. Nicky donated a bottle of wine despite Erik's protests that dumplings didn't go with wine, and Katelyn said a small prayer for them before they began to eat.

“Nicholas,” Ada said sternly, spooning more dumplings onto everyone's plates. “When are you going to put a ring on your boyfriend? If you wait any longer, I'll be in my grave before I can attend that wedding.”

Nicky blushed and mumbled something about money, and Erik reached for his hand under the table.

“Andrew has a boyfriend now, too, Mrs Minyard,” Katelyn said cheerfully. “He's very handsome.”

“Of course he is,” Ada scoffed, spearing half a dumpling with her fork. “My grandsons are picky bastards.”

Katelyn laughed and gave Aaron a meaningful look. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, which was such an uncharacteristic display of affection from him that Andrew choked a bit on his salad. His grandmother reached over to thump him heartily on the back and he coughed even more.

“He treating you well, your boy?” she demanded gruffly when Andrew had caught his breath. “If he doesn't, dump him. Plenty of Grindylows at the bottom of the pond, there's no reason to settle so early, look at me and your grandfather. We got married when we were thirty and then I kicked him out five years later because it turned out the good-for-nothing scoundrel got me knocked up.”

Katelyn giggled into her pumpkin juice.

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said, smirking at Aaron.

“Andrew and Neil had a fight before they left for the holidays, actually, but they made up again and Andrew spent a night at his house,” Nicky volunteered eagerly.

Andrew glared at Katelyn for bringing up the topic and at Nicky for being so liberal with his tongue. He'd forgotten just how horrible it was when they were all cooped up together like this and he was already missing the peace and quiet of the Astronomy tower.

“Eh, fights are par for the course,” Ada said dismissively. “Did you have sex yet? I've always said you can't know a Hippogriff's worth until you've ridden it.”

Nicky snorted wine out of his nose and Katelyn clapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter. Aaron looked stoically ahead and Erik was grinning and handed Nicky a napkin.

“More dumplings?” Ada asked blithely. Andrew shook his head but she was already putting another one on his plate, and when everyone really was stuffed to the gills she brought out a dish piled high with frozen cream puffs and poured chocolate sauce over them from the tip of her wand.

“I can't possibly eat any more,” Katelyn said dubiously. Aaron gallantly offered to share his portion with her. Andrew got extra, because he always had space for pudding, and Nicky let Erik feed him bites with his fingers, giggling and getting cream all over his face in the process.

“How come your man isn't here?” Ada asked Andrew, nudging him with her foot. “Too good to slum it with us?”

“He's with his own family,” Andrew said around a mouthful of cream.

“Hm,” Ada made and poured more chocolate sauce on Andrew's portion.

Later, when everyone else had gone to bed, Andrew took his cigarettes and his matches outside – Neil never had returned his lighter – and sat on the front steps, watching as the gnomes Nicky and Erik had chased away stealthily crept back into their homes under cover of night. He pulled the blanket he'd brought out with him tighter around himself and cursed at the shitty matches until one finally caught fire, but just as he was taking his first drag a small, wrinkly hand snatched it out of his fingers again and his grandmother sat down heavily beside him, placing the cigarette between her own lips with a sigh.

“Didn't miss this house,” she grumbled and inhaled deeply. When she opened her mouth, smoke rings drifted up from her lips. “No offence, but your mother was a slob.”

Andrew hummed in agreement and lit himself another cigarette. They sat smoking in silence for a while; then Ada cleared her throat, coughed up some phlegm, and spat it out into the sparse grass.

“So,” she said. “You making progress with the Bee woman?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said.

“Good. That's one Hogwarts professor who isn't getting paid for sitting around and twiddling her thumbs. The other kids still giving you trouble?”

“They're not kids anymore,” Andrew said, rubbing his itchy eyes. He'd swapped his contacts for glasses earlier, but they still prickled uncomfortably.

“I can still take them,” Ada said, waving her hand around. Andrew huffed out a small laugh, smoke spilling from his lungs, and Ada flashed him the blunt end of her smile.

“Suppose that's your handsome new man's job now,” she allowed and stubbed her cigarette out in an abandoned flowerpot. “Does he fight for you, hm?”

Andrew thought of Neil standing up to Seth and Riko and felt a little bit hot inside.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he's a fighter.”

“Good,” Ada said approvingly. “You need one of those. Someone who doesn't put up with your brooding and your silly moods.”

“Must run in the family,” Andrew muttered and Ada laughed and clapped him on the back.

“You'll lighten up with age,” she told him mischievously, “trust me, I'm a Seer.”

Andrew stuck his tongue out at her and she stole his next cigarette before handing over a parcel wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine.

“I got a feeling something was up when you asked me to knit you that extra jumper,” she said, “so I made 'em match.”

Andrew tore the newspaper off and shook out two similar looking garments. One was dark green and bright pink, as specified, with a lurid orange Kneazle pattern, and the other was black and pink, with black cats on the pink bits. The Kneazle jumper had fluttering Snitches on the hem and around the cuffs and Andrew's had broomsticks in the same places.

“That's the most hideous thing I've ever seen,” Andrew hummed approvingly.

“Thank you,” Ada said, patting his arm. “There's warming charms knitted into the lining so you won't catch a cold while brooding again. Aaron told me.”

“Traitor,” Andrew muttered, but peeled himself out of his blanket to put the jumper on over his shirt, anyway.

It was warm and cosy and smelled like burnt fruit cake. Like home.

 


	7. Spit and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Christmas holidays, Seth and the Malcolm siblings cause some trouble. Neil's new friends are there for him though, even and especially when it comes to his presumed relationship with Andrew...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: discussion of disordered eating/body image issues, homophobic language; there is a scene that is similar to what happens on Neil's birthday in the books in that there is a lot of blood (it's conjured and not real blood though), outsider description of a panic attack
> 
> Only one more chapter to go! Thank you for all the amazing comments, I'm so happy people like this AU!!
> 
> Janie, once again you are a star for cleaning up all my awkward sentences <3

At the end of the Christmas holidays Ada offered Andrew a ride back to London in her death trap car, and while both Aaron and Katelyn balked at the suggestion Andrew gladly took her up on it. She tied a headscarf under her chin and rapped her wand on the roof of the car, making it collapse and retract, never mind that it was far too cold to drive a convertible – a few warming charms made the inside of the car almost agreeable.

“Don't you forget to invite me to the wedding now,” she told Nicky, standing on tiptoes to pat his cheek. “I keep my dress robes ready at all times.”

She went on to Erik but had to content herself with patting his chest since he was too tall for her to reach his cheek.

“You've got more boob than I did at your age,” she grumbled. Erik, good-natured as he was, laughed and said something about how she must have been a beautiful woman in her youth anyway, and she smacked his six pack and warned him not to get too frivolous with her.

To Katelyn she said: “Don't know why you bother with that boy, all he's good for is making eggs and poring over his books. I'd tell you to get a dog instead, they're better trained and they eat less, but what do I know? I'm just an old woman. You enjoy yourself, eh? That's all you can do when you're young and foolish.”

“Oh, he makes good porridge, too,” Katelyn laughed, leaning down to plant a kiss on Aaron's head. Aaron looked so mutinous that Ada gave him a five minute lecture on how he had to cheer up if he wanted to keep Katelyn around, which Andrew tuned out in favour of heaving both his and Ada's suitcases into the car, and then he had to endure another round of hugs from Nicky and Erik before they were finally off.

They passed the ride to London in comfortable silence, Ada speeding merrily and Andrew enjoying the cold wind in his face and the warming spells packed around his feet. He dozed off while they were stuck in the London morning traffic, the roof back up now because it had started to rain, though he jerked awake again when Ada turned the radio to a Muggle power metal station.

“I'm coming inside with you,” she decided as they rolled to a stop in what wasn't technically a legal parking spot outside King's Cross. “I want to see if your boy is as handsome as Katelyn says.”

“I don't know if he's taking the train back,” Andrew muttered, taking his suitcase out and slamming the door shut. Ada ignored him and they walked into the station together, sidestepping stressed Muggles toting briefcases, takeaway coffee cups and small dogs. They'd made good time and since they'd had breakfast very early Ada bought them burritos and lime tea – “with extra agave, young man, do I look like I need any more wrinkles from drinking diluted acid?” – and they sat at a sticky table and ate. Andrew picked his burrito apart and Ada offered cheerful commentary on the people walking past them, criticising everything from their fashion sense to the way they swung their hands.

The train left at eleven and Andrew and Ada made their way onto platform nine and three-quarters with a bit of time to spare so that Andrew could point out some of his classmates to her. Aaron and Katelyn, who had Apparated together, were talking to some Ravenclaws whose names Andrew didn't know. Kevin was deep in discussion with a group of fellow Prefects but Renee ambled over to say hello, trailed by Jean, who had spent the holidays at her house. Just as it became time to board the train, Andrew spotted Neil tumbling through the barrier with his uncle.

Ada must have caught him staring because she made a pleased noise and muttered “handsome indeed,” then promptly marched over to them before Andrew could stop her. He hurried after her, ready to intervene, but she and Stuart seemed to be acquainted and he smiled politely when she inquired after a litter of cats he'd taken off her hands a few years before.

“Hey,” Neil grinned, though he had dark circles under his eyes. He was back in school robes and his hair looked like someone had attacked it with a wet comb at the last minute, his customary cowlicks already starting to rear their heads again.

“Hey,” Andrew said.

“Porridge misses you,” Neil blurted out. “She wouldn't stop pestering me after you left. I think she's in love with you.”

“Unfortunate,” Andrew said. “This is my grandmother, she's the one who knitted your jumper.”

“Oh! I'm excited to see it,” Neil laughed as Ada shook his hand. Her grip was stronger than her frail wrists would have you believe and Andrew didn't miss the little wince when Neil found this out, but he kept up a good poker face.

“Get on the train, boys,” Ada grunted, “or you'll have to fly after it on your brooms. Did that once, had a terrible case of haemorrhoids for weeks after.”

Neil tried not to laugh and Andrew rolled his eyes and picked up both of their suitcases because he knew his grandmother would never let him live it down if he let Neil carry his own stuff. She nodded approvingly and ushered them away. Andrew could hear her ask Stuart if he happened to be interested in Crups as well, because her neighbour had a particularly yappy one that she was very keen to get rid of. Stuart diplomatically declined.

“How were your holidays?” Neil asked.

“Fine,” Andrew grunted, checking compartments until he found one occupied by two impressionable first-years. He kicked them out and tugged Neil in after him – Renee's compartment had already been full, Kevin was still with the Prefects and would join them later and Aaron and Katelyn had stayed with their Ravenclaws.

“Here,” Andrew said once they'd sat down and dug a parcel of mince pies and a crumpled jumper out of his suitcase before thrusting both at Neil. He'd baked more pies the night before in a fit of insomnia and they had turned out less sweet than usual – completely by accident – so he'd decided to give them to Neil, who was a heathen and didn't like sugar.

Neil made a burbly, pleased sound when he unfolded the jumper, then pulled it on immediately despite the fact that he was already wearing his robes. The pink clashed horribly with his hair colour just as Andrew had predicted, but he looked so ridiculously smug about it that Andrew had to steal one of his mince pies and look out the window instead, lack of sugar be damned.

Kevin joined them shortly after, complaining about all the practice they hadn't had over the holidays, and Andrew watched idly over them as Kevin taught Neil how to play Wizard's chess. Neil picked it up in record speed and beat Kevin three times in a row, gloating like a small child, but then he turned out to be completely abysmal at Gobstones, which somewhat restored Kevin's spirits, and they bickered over which game was superior until Andrew put his foot down and destroyed them both at Exploding Snap.

“Next time, we'll play Strip Snap,” Andrew said, smirking when Kevin blanched at the memory of the last time his drunk self had forgotten how good Andrew was at Exploding Snap.

“I'm never drinking again,” he said weakly and slapped his cards down. They promptly went up in flames and singed his eyebrows, and Neil hastily put them out with his wand.

“Lies, Day. Such filthy lies.”

“'m never drinking around you again,” Kevin mumbled crossly, and Andrew threw his head back and laughed.

*

“Hey, Minyard! You got fat over the holidays! Hope your new year's resolutions include a diet!” Seth called after him. “You too, Kate! Or did your boyfriend knock you up?”

Andrew wasn't sure how he went from walking down the Charms corridor with Katelyn to punching Seth Gordon in the solar plexus so hard he crumpled, but he didn't deplore his reflexes one bit. Just like that Seth was gasping on his knees, out of commission, and Katelyn seemed too shocked to reprimand him, so he jerked his chin at the end of the corridor and kept walking.

“Oh no, you don't!”

Katelyn hadn't followed him. She was standing between him and Seth, who had drawn his wand and was trying to point it around her at Andrew. Both of her hands were up in the air, wandless. Seth sneered.

“So you stand idly by when your attack dog punches me, but when I defend myself, suddenly you go all Prefect on me?”

“Ten points from Hufflepuff for brawling,” Katelyn snapped, breathing hard, “and twenty from Slytherin for pulling your wand on a fellow classmate's back. Shame on you, Seth.”

“He had it fucking coming,” Seth snarled, and Andrew just about managed to pull Katelyn out of the way when his wand shot angry red sparks.

“If you don't shut it, I'll talk to your Head of House about this,” Katelyn said. “I'm sure Professor Dobson will be just as unimpressed about that stunt of yours as I am.”

“That bitch,” Seth muttered, and Andrew would have gone for his throat if not for Katelyn wedging herself bodily between them.

“Andrew, stop it! He's not worth it.”

“Don't try to put a leash on me,” Andrew hissed. Maybe he was an attack dog, but not the kind you could train.

Katelyn's eyes narrowed.

“I won't hesitate to have you both put in detention – together,” she said, shouldering Andrew away from Seth, whose face mirrored the same horror as Andrew felt at the thought of having to polish trophies or re-pot Mandrakes together for hours. “Exactly,” Katelyn said triumphantly, looking between them. “Now, are we finished? I have an essay to write.”

Seth glowered but didn't stop them from walking away this time. Katelyn picked up a brisk pace until they reached the tapestry that hid their usual spot, ripped it open and let it fall in Andrew's face when he followed. Instead of sitting in her alcove she marched over to a window, tapped it with her wand to open it, then leaned way too far over the edge in an attempt to control her temper.

“What a good little Prefect.” Andrew never could resist poking his fingers into the Billywig nest. “ _Can_ you even deduct points?”

“Not directly,” Katelyn said, her voice thick and shaky. Andrew pulled her inside by the back of her robes. “But I can talk to a professor and they can decide whether it's warranted or not.”

Andrew shook a cigarette out of his pack and patted his pockets for his lighter, which was, of course, still absent. Katelyn touched her wand to the tip and ignited it for him, then took the cigarette out of his hand and put it between her lips.

“Didn't know you smoked,” Andrew said, grinning when she coughed on the first lungful of smoke.

“I don't,” Katelyn choked out and handed back the cigarette. “Seth's just such a wanker.”

“Because he called you fat?” Andrew guessed, settling against the wall and blowing his smoke out of the open window. It was a clear day, sunlight glinting off the snow that had accumulated on the castle's many rooftops and turrets, but still icy cold. “So what? So you're fat. You're also an athlete, top of our year, Prefect, Quidditch captain, your boyfriend jerks off to you every night – yeah, wish I'd never heard that, remind me to have myself Obliviated – and you're going to be the best Healer in the country after school. Seth should be so lucky to have you treat him when someone breaks his nose for talking shit.”

Katelyn stared at him, then stole his cigarette again and took a second drag, this time more measured.

“That was the kindest thing you've ever said about me. Actually, I think that was the only kind thing you've ever said about me.”

“Just stating facts.”

Andrew shrugged and snatched his cigarette back. Katelyn sighed and leaned her head against the window frame.

“I'm just so tired of trying to make myself fit this arbitrary mould,” she said, looking out over the castle. “I spent all of second year slathering my hair with that stupid potion. I talk like them, I act like them, I got really sick back in fourth year because I would eat nothing but salad. Abby, bless her, had to have serious words with me before I could even look at myself in the mirror again. I'm so tired of it, Andrew.”

“Then stop it,” Andrew said. Katelyn smiled weakly.

“I wish I could be like Allison,” she said. “She's not skinny either, but half the school is lusting after her because she owns it. Dan could probably pick her boyfriend up with one arm, same goes for Thea. Renee is taller than all the boys in our year, but she's got more grace than a full-blooded Veela. They're all so comfortable in their skin.”

“But you're not them,” Andrew told her, stubbing out his cigarette. “You're Katelyn. No one else can be her, so the tedious job falls to you. If you weren't you, who'd get on my nerves? No, wait, don't answer that, everybody gets on my nerves.”

Katelyn laughed wetly, then shivered in the cold draught from outside and closed the window.

“Thanks, Andrew,” she said, her curls bouncing when she shook her head. “You're full of surprises, you know that?”

“That's me,” Andrew said deadpan, “always dazzling people with my scintillating personality.”

“You don't give yourself enough credit,” Katelyn grinned. “Don't forget your devastating good looks.”

“Oh, yes, those. If only boys stopped throwing themselves at my feet because they only want me for my body.”

“Didn't mind so much when it was Neil doing the throwing,” Katelyn teased.

“Neil just wants me for my Quidditch skills,” Andrew said mournfully, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“Mm, yeah, I'm sure he's very interested in your broomstick,” Katelyn smirked. “Speaking of broomsticks, what was that about Aaron having wank fantasies about me?”

“Ugh,” Andrew said, gagging, “don't talk to me, I'm still trying to bleach that memory from my brain.”

Katelyn hooked her arm under Andrew's and patted his wrist.

“Come on, let's go to the library. I can finish my essay and you can look up memory charms.”

*

Andrew dreamed about Azkaban again.

He woke up tangled in the hoodie Neil had given him when he'd stayed over at the Hatfords. Fresh snow was trundling down past the windows when he yanked open his curtains and found Jeremy and Matt already in the bathroom, staring blearily at their reflections as they shaved. He went down to breakfast with them, but broke away at the last moment to sit with the Slytherins instead when he saw that there was a small commotion at one end of the Slytherin table.

Renee moved to make space for him and he sat down, looking around for Neil. Whispers rippled up and down the hall like gooseflesh. Most of the students were bent over newspapers and Andrew leaned into Kevin to read over his shoulder.

“There's been an escape from Azkaban,” Kevin said, showing him the front page, which was taken up by twin pictures of a man and a woman in prison robes. “The Malcolm siblings. Apparently they worked for Neil's father.”

“Where is he?” Andrew said, unnerved by Neil's absence. If his uncle and mother had come to take him away...

“With Whittier and Dobson,” Renee said soothingly. “I think they wanted to talk to him about safety precautions.”

Kevin's head snapped up. “They're not going to take him off the Quidditch team, are they?”

“I'd like to see them try,” Andrew muttered, knowing Neil would put up a hell of a fight if they did.

“Maybe they will ask Wymack to supervise our practice,” Renee said wisely. “I'm more worried about Seth, to be honest.”

Kevin and Andrew both stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Lola Malcolm killed his father,” Renee explained. “If he gets it into his head to go off looking for her...”

“He wouldn't,” Kevin said nervously. “That's... he can't just...”

“Worried you'll lose a Beater?” Andrew asked casually, leaning back in his seat. He found some blueberry jam and slathered his toast with it, eyes trailing the length of the Slytherin table. Seth, too, was absent this morning.

“No!” Kevin said indignantly. “I mean, yes, but... He's an idiot if he thinks he can take on two convicted murderers by himself. He's not that stupid. Right?”

Renee shrugged lightly. “Wouldn't you want revenge?”

It was a genuine question and Kevin went quiet, brooding over his porridge. They didn't talk much on their way to class, Andrew walking Kevin to Arithmancy and back-tracking to his own Ancient Runes class with the Gryffindors. Seth remained absent but Neil caught up with them in Potions, smiling his best _I'm fine_ smile even though his hands were shaking as he set up his cauldron. As Renee had predicted, Whittier had insisted Wymack supervise the Slytherin team's Quidditch practice for the time being. Neil wasn't allowed to roam the grounds by himself anymore and had to stick with Hernandez for his Creatures lessons. Hogsmeade outings were cancelled for him as well. He didn't look very happy about it, but he was relieved he could still play Quidditch at least.

That week Andrew skipped a lot of classes and was continuously late to the others, because he made Kevin accompany him and Neil to all of Neil's classes before walking Kevin to his own. When he couldn't do it himself, he noticed that Renee, Matt, Dan and Allison had picked up the habit, and soon enough Neil couldn't go anywhere anymore without an escort of at least two other people following him.

Mostly he was exasperated and a little confused about this and kept insisting he was fine and that the Malcolms weren't just going to pop up inside Hogwarts. No one listened to him, and by the second week of January, Kevin had to have a small tantrum about all the spectators crowding up the topmost stands to watch the Slytherins' practice and Wymack sent them all away except for Andrew, who simply remained in his seat as the others filed off the pitch.

Wymack sighed and let him be.

Andrew waited until the team was in the changing rooms and Wymack was locking up the broom shed before he went down to where Seth was still wrestling the Bludgers back into their trunk. He leaned against the door to the gear room, tapping a cigarette out of his pack before he remembered Neil still had his lighter. Sneaky fucker.

“The fuck do you want?” Seth grunted, strapping in the last Bludger.

Andrew let his unlit cigarette dance over his knuckles.

“I want to know,” he said, “if you're going to go after Lola Malcolm.”

“And why would I do that,” Seth said and slammed the trunk shut with his foot. He stripped his gloves off and tucked them into his pocket, wiping the sweat from his brow. His Beater's bat was propped against the wall behind him, within easy reach if he decided to smash Andrew's skull in on a whim.

“You know why,” Andrew said.

Seth was quiet; then he picked up his bat, hefting it in his hands as if to test its weight. He swung it experimentally through the air.

“Let's put it like this,” he finally said. “If I ever cross paths with her, I wouldn't hesitate to stick her like a pig. But I'm not gonna go looking for her. I'm not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me,” Andrew said, tossing his cigarette up in the air and catching it again before tucking it away in his pocket. “Here's the deal. If you do anything, anything at all, that might compromise Neil's safety, I will skin you alive. If, on the other hand, you sit tight and keep quiet...”

“You'll what, faggot?” Seth sneered. “Give me a blowjob?”

“No,” Andrew said. “I'll let you live. And I might be persuaded to put in a good word with Allison's law firm for your mother. They have an emergency fund for clients who can't afford them.”

“What're you implying about my mother?” Seth snarled, heating up like a salamander fire.

“That she needs to divorce her abusive piece of shit husband,” Andrew said. “The one she married after your father got himself offed by dear Lola. It's remarkable, really, what a little bit of research can unearth. Your home life is almost as ugly as your face. So. Do we have a deal or don't we?”

Seth ground his teeth together so hard Andrew was sure they'd be reduced to stumps by the time he was twenty. His meaty fists clenched and unclenched by his sides, veins sticking out sharply, but eventually, he relented.

“Deal,” he grunted. Then, to Andrew's surprise, he stuck out one of his hands in a clumsy offering. Andrew looked at his sweaty palm with distaste and had to remind himself that he was doing this for Neil before he could bring himself to shake briefly on it.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Andrew said, showing off his teeth in a terrible approximation of a grin. “If you'll excuse me now, I have to go and wash your stench off my hand.”

*

On January 19th, the Quidditch pitch was vandalised.

It was the Gryffindor team's turn to use it for practice. Andrew was walking Kevin and Neil back to the dungeons from their last class when Dan came hurrying through the front doors, still in her school robes, her wand drawn. She had her entire team with her and a few stragglers she must have picked up on the way over.

“Someone get Wymack,” she panted, “and Whittier. The pitch...”

Kevin, predictably, went ashen-faced and started for the front door to see for himself, but Andrew caught him around the chest before he could make it further than a few steps.

“Nope. You're staying with me.”

“Dan, what happened?” Neil asked, looking around at the pale faces. Dan's Beaters had taken up residence by the doors, turning away a couple of fifth year girls who wanted to go for a walk around the lake. Others had peeled away from the group to fetch the professors.

Dan just pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Her Seeker, a small third year girl who was as fast on her legs as she was on her broom, returned first with Wymack in tow.

“Pitch's been vandalised, coach,” Dan told him grimly. “I didn't think it was safe out there for my team, so I brought them back.”

Wymack matched her expression and cursed under his breath.

“Vandalised how?” Kevin demanded.

“See for yourself,” Dan said as she turned to follow Wymack to the door. Headmaster Whittier came hurrying down the stairs, his face shiny with sweat, and someone had found Jeremy and Katelyn as well, though they looked confused more than worried. When both Neil and Kevin went after them Andrew threw his hands up in the air with a sigh and just decided to come with.

All four Quidditch captains had trouble keeping up with Wymack's stride. Neil was right at the front, not even out of breath, and Whittier was puffing somewhere further back, but both Wymack and Neil froze at the entrance to the pitch. Dan, Kevin, Katelyn and Andrew crowded around them and Kevin made a strangled noise, grabbing Andrew's arm without thinking –

The entire lawn was covered in blood.

It had splashed up onto the stands in gaudy red stripes as well, far too much and too fresh to be actual human blood. More likely it had been conjured, but the effect was still sickening. The wind carried the thick smell of it and steam rose off the larger puddles, and then Kevin was heaving into the dirt to one side and Andrew noticed that Neil looked like he'd seen a Banshee, his eyes fixed on the sky rather than the ground.

Andrew looked up and saw why. Someone had nailed all the Quaffles and Bludgers to the goal hoops, the Bludgers still struggling feebly. On the balls were words, sloppy and luminescent in the fading daylight: _Happy 18th, junior._

“Merlin behind the veil,” Whittier gasped, having finally caught up with them. “Who did this?”

“Isn't it obvious? This wasn't done by a student,” Wymack answered darkly, his gaze on Neil. He tried to put a hand on Neil's shoulder but Neil flinched so violently that he hastily dropped it again. “Neil,” he said, not unkindly, and Neil stared at him with wide, rabbity eyes. “Does that look like the Malcolms' work to you?”

Dan gasped softly. Katelyn and Jeremy were both looking shaken but more put-together than Andrew would have given them credit for and Kevin still had a hand pressed over his mouth, gagging softly. Andrew felt the need to pull him closer, but Kevin's whole body resisted, so he went to Neil instead and circled round until he was standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the pitch.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, Andrew offered him his hand palm up. Neil's eyes dropped to it like a stone, zeroing in on the lines in his palm, and he lifted a shaking hand and met Andrew's halfway.

“I'm sorry,” Neil whispered, his voice trembling so hard Andrew was afraid it would blow away on the breeze. “I'm fine. I'm sorry. I need to... I...”

“Neil,” Andrew said, holding his hand.

“Lola,” Neil visibly forced himself to say. “She had- has a taste for...”

His other hand twitched in the direction of the pitch and Andrew decided it was time for them to go. He snagged Kevin's sleeve on the way and felt more than heard Dan, Katelyn and Jeremy fall into step behind them, while Wymack and Whittier talked about notifying the Aurors and requesting extra security for the school.

“You never told us it was your birthday, Neil,” Katelyn said into the silence, a weak smile fluttering and dying on her lips like wet butterfly wings. Andrew was still carefully holding Neil's hand. He made sure that Neil wouldn't trip since his gaze was far away, and was mildly grateful for the others flanking them in protective formation.

A small crowd of students had gathered in the Entrance Hall. Dan went to them to relay the bare bones of what had happened and sent them back to their houses. Jeremy directed the professors who were just arriving on scene – both of them took their Head Girl and Boy duties very seriously – but Andrew didn't stop walking. The crowd parted in front of them and Katelyn and Kevin moved to shield Neil from them as they passed. At some point, Renee, Jean and Allison met them coming up from the dungeons and Andrew led them all down another corridor in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room, because he knew it would provide as many hammocks as they needed for the night.

“Murtlap.”

The door opened when Andrew muttered the password, and he waited until everyone was inside before climbing in himself. The common room had apparently been expecting them because there was a pile of blankets and cushions already arranged in front of one of the fireplaces, and Andrew walked Neil over to them before he let his knees give in and sank to the floor.

“Fuck,” Neil whispered, curling in on himself. He was breathing roughly and when Andrew put a hand on the back of his neck his skin felt slippery and clammy with sweat. Andrew could hear the others murmuring as Katelyn filled them in on what was going on but all he could focus on was Neil, who was digging his fingers into his cheeks and the corners of his mouth, shaking violently under Andrew's hand.

“Breathe,” Andrew told him. “You're fine. They just want to mess with your head. If they'd wanted to get you, they wouldn't have announced their presence like that.”

Neil moaned, his muscles rigid, and Andrew put pressure on his neck until he let himself crumple forward against Andrew's chest.

“There,” Andrew said, picking up Neil's hand and placing it over his ribcage. “Breathe with me, Neil.”

Neil sucked in a shuddering breath and held on to Andrew like he was an anchor. Andrew kept his hand on the back of Neil's head, fingers threading absently through the sweaty strands of hair, and focused on breathing slowly, evenly, deeply. After a few failed attempts Neil finally took his cues from him and his breathing lost its jagged edge, though he remained where he was, leaning against Andrew, boneless and exhausted.

Katelyn approached them with two mugs of tea and forced them both to drink some. One by one, the others crept over to join them; Renee and Jean deep in discussion about centaurs, Matt with an extra blanket and some chocolate biscuits for Neil, and Kevin with a portable radio he had borrowed from Alvarez. He tapped it with his wand until the sounds of an old Quidditch game commentary crackled out of the speakers – last year's National Cup final, Tornadoes vs. Puddlemere United, if Andrew wasn't much mistaken. None of them talked to Neil directly but their presence seemed to soothe him. He extricated himself from Andrew and wrapped the blanket around himself, looking shattered but calmer now, and when Allison came back with a basket full of sandwiches and apples she'd charmed out of the house elves in the kitchen Neil took a plate without objection and leaned closer to the radio.

“Junkie,” Andrew told him and reached for the tea pot to refill Neil's mug while he was distracted.

Not long after dinner Neil dozed off in a nest of cushions, the radio still on, though Kevin reached over and turned down the volume. Their blanket pile had been expanded to include Thea, who was talking to Katelyn about her plans for after school; Alvarez, who was snoring in Laila's lap; and Dan and Jeremy, who had finally come back from helping the professors deal with the Aurors and herding panicked first years back to their houses.

“Poor Neil,” Dan said, looking over to where Neil was balled up tightly under his blanket. “Don't you think we should do something for his birthday, to cheer him up? Jeremy had this really sweet idea...”

“I just thought since none of us had time to get presents or organise anything we could all give him something of ours as a present, something symbolic, you know?” Jeremy said pensively. Because he was Jeremy Knox and everybody had a crush on him the idea was met with a lot of enthusiasm – Alvarez immediately donated her old radio since Neil had liked listening to the Quidditch commentary, while Kevin went back to Slytherin with Jean, Renee and Allison to fetch his wizard's chess set and so they could all get their pyjamas.

A little while later Wymack and Hernandez came by to check on Neil and inform them that the Quidditch pitch would be restored to its former glory within the next week, also that new gear had been ordered to replace what had been vandalised. All of their brooms would be tested for curses just in case, even though it looked like the broom shed at least hadn't been broken into.

“David and I will be supervising all teams' practices from now on,” Hernandez said, “and the Aurors are combing the grounds as we speak, but we think the perpetrators probably didn't stick around. Still, we'll be getting some extra security in the upcoming weeks and hopefully they'll be back behind bars as soon as possible.”

Wymack stayed behind to talk to Dan, and Andrew reluctantly left his place by Neil's side to follow Hernandez out into the corridor.

“Professor,” he called, “I need a favour. It's about a Kneazle...”

When he returned to the common room five minutes later, Neil was sitting up in his blanket nest, sleepy and tousled, but already arguing with Katelyn over whether the International Quidditch Committee should lower the amount of points gained by catching the Snitch. Katelyn insisted it would make games more interesting to watch while Neil was of the opinion that the sheer amount of goals usually scored in the progress of a single game warranted the imbalance in points.

Midnight had everyone sitting around the fireplace in their pyjamas, drowsy and comfortable, watching as Allison informed Neil that she was giving him her Witch Weekly subscription. Neil clearly wasn't sure how to react to this news.

“Trust me,” Allison said, throwing her arm around him and winking, “it's a riot, you'll see.”

“I still don't understand why you're giving me all this stuff,” Neil said helplessly, the handmade quilt Renee had forced on him and Kevin's chess set still clutched in his hands.

“Because it's your birthday, doofus,” Dan told him, clucking her tongue and reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You get presents on your birthday.”

She'd come back from Gryffindor tower with her copy of Quidditch Through The Ages, signed by the entire starting line of the Appleby Arrows. Jean had given him a stack of hastily developed photos he'd taken throughout the school year. Katelyn had offered to cut and style Neil's hair for him and dragged Aaron down from the library, prodding him until he had given Neil an array of useful medical potions. Jeremy had bestowed a ten minute long hug on Neil, by the end of which Neil had looked more uncomfortable than Kevin had that time a second year girl had asked him to the Yule ball; and then Jeremy and Matt had banded together to compose a Quidditch-themed bastardisation of Celestina Warbeck's _Magical Birthday_ song and performed it together wearing frilly night gowns that they had borrowed from Alvarez, complete with choreography.

“Also,” Matt said meaningfully when the applause had died down, “we're going to camp out down here for a couple of nights, so Neil and Andrew, you have free use of the Hufflepuff seventh year boys' dorm. Just saying.”

There were catcalls and murmurs of approval all around. Andrew could have kissed King when she chose that moment to make a racket outside the entrance to the common room and he had to get up to let her in.

“You took your time,” Andrew told her, unimpressed, and she mewed and pressed up against his legs. Scooping her up, Andrew brought her over to the blanket nest and dropped her in Neil's lap.

“I asked Hernandez to take a look at her and check that she's healthy,” he told Neil quietly while the others were distracted loudly requesting an encore from Jeremy and Matt. Jean and Kevin seemed especially keen after Jeremy had lifted his gown up to show off his Snitch-patterned boxers on the last verse.

“He clued her into the castle's wards and put the Trace on her, so you can always figure out where she is if she gets lost. She'll probably still roam the grounds and do what she wants but technically she's yours now if you want her.”

Neil stared down at the purring Kneazle making herself comfortable in his lap and didn't say anything for a long time. Andrew cursed himself for coming up with this stupid idea – Kneazles didn't make for very good pets and Neil had all this pet-related trauma from home; he probably didn't even want one or else he could have just adopted any of his uncle's ten thousand cats. When he looked up, though, there was a brilliant, wobbly smile on his face, wide and dimpled, so different from his usual wry grins and mischievous smirks that Andrew's stomach felt like he'd just fumbled a landing on his broom.

“I've never had a pet before,” Neil said, still fighting the smile but to no avail.

“I know,” Andrew huffed. He put his hand on Neil's face and pushed it away. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Neil whined, trying to lean out of Andrew's range and toppling against Kevin's side in the process. King meowed her displeasure at all the jostling but stayed in his lap.

“Never mind, I think it's just your face,” Andrew said. “I can't stand the sight of it.”

“Aw, babe,” Neil crooned, pouting, “that's not a very nice thing to say to your boyfriend.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You shut up first.”

“You two really deserve each other,” Kevin said around a yawn and pushed Neil back into Andrew's space. Neil settled his head on Andrew's shoulder, the yawn catching, and absently nuzzled into Andrew's neck.

“Go to sleep,” Andrew told him, resting his palm over Neil's closed eyes to block out the light. “You'll be insufferable tomorrow if you stay up any longer.”

“Will not,” Neil huffed. “Everyone else is still up.”

“Everyone else is an idiot,” Andrew said.

“Including you?” Neil grinned, then twisted his head up until he could lick Andrew's hand. Andrew yanked it back as if burned.

“I must be since I haven't smothered you with a pillow and fed your body to the Kneazles yet.”

King chirruped in offence and Neil laughed lightly against Andrew's shoulder but didn't reply. When Andrew looked back down at him his eyes were closed and his breathing had turned heavy and slow. He was asleep.

Andrew brushed a wayward curl away from Neil's forehead and tried to make out a pattern in the soft freckles drizzled across his cheekbones. For all his skills with reading tea leaves, the best he could come up with was that they looked a little bit like toast crumbs.

There was a low whistle off to one side and then Kevin quietly said: “Damn. You are so whipped.”

Damn. Andrew was.

*

That night they all slept down in the Hufflepuff common room, Andrew curled possessively around Neil with Kevin bracketing him on the other side, the silence occasionally broken by a whispered “are you guys asleep yet” or a badly stifled giggle. Andrew dozed more than he slept, lulled by the sounds of steady breathing and soft snoring around him yet constantly listening for signs of trouble, but he didn't have any upsetting dreams either and when he woke in the morning he felt sleepy and strangely well-rested at the same time.

What had happened to the Quidditch pitch was the number one topic of discussion among the students that week. Practices were cancelled until the pitch was cleaned up and, true to their word, Jeremy and Matt instigated a seventh year sleepover in the Hufflepuff common room so that the boys' dorm remained empty the next few nights. Andrew and Neil made good use of it by studying and catching up on their homework in peace, though Neil was antsy about not being able to go flying and spent half the time making random objects zoom around the dorm with his wand or drawing on Andrew's notes.

On the third day Jeremy, Matt and Alvarez cornered Andrew after dinner.

“Andrew, you're doing something wrong,” Alvarez said, hands on her hips. She was the only person on the team smaller than Andrew but those hips were seriously impressive and her tiny feet could be vicious when someone provoked her ire.

“We thought you were going to distract him from being cooped up inside, but he's more restless than a pregnant Kneazle,” Matt chuckled. “Listen, man, this sleepover's fun and all, but you need to hurry up and get your boyfriend laid.”

Jeremy, one elbow braced on Matt's shoulder, grinned and said: “If you need pointers...”

“I don't need pointers,” Andrew snapped, trying to sidestep them without getting in Alvarez' way. “You can sleep wherever the hell you want, I don't care.”

“Been practising your silencing spells, have you?” Matt smirked. “Good call. But honestly, don't let an empty dorm go to waste like that.”

“And make sure you really tire him out,” Alvarez said matter-of-factly. “Better yet, make it so he can't walk for a day or two. We're all getting tired of his temper.”

“What's that, babe?” Laila called over from where she was draped over a nearby armchair, armed with homework. “You, lecturing someone about their temper? Cauldron, kettle, black, anyone?”

Alvarez pounced on her girlfriend with a cry and started tickling her until she screamed for mercy. Andrew used the distraction to sneak away upstairs where Neil was waiting for him with King and a pile of books. Andrew's stomach contracted pleasantly at the sight of Neil sprawled out on his bed in a crumpled t-shirt and jeans, his robes discarded on the floor, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of hipbone as he scowled at his Potions book held up over his head.

“Ugh,” he said, flinging the book away, “ _why_ are we learning about love potions, they're illegal and disturbing, I don't even want to know about the theory behind them.”

“Take it up with Whittier,” Andrew said, sitting down on the bed beside Neil and pulling his legs up onto the mattress. “Or better yet, with the school board. You could send them a Howler.”

“Maybe I will,” Neil said darkly. He balled up a piece of parchment and threw it at the ceiling, catching it as it came back down and throwing it again.

“Here,” Andrew said and felt around in his pocket for the thing he'd made a detour for after Herbology. “Catch.”

Neil looked up, expecting a projectile, but the small golden Snitch fluttered sideways out of Andrew's palm and zigzagged down the length of the dormitory at breakneck speed. Neil was on his feet in a second and a moment later he had intercepted the Snitch's path and snagged it clean out of the air in a single jump.

“Where'd you get that?” he asked, all the doom and gloom gone from his expression like someone had cast a Scourgify on him. He inspected the Snitch, which was a little dented and scratched but still perfectly functional, and it struggled in his hand, eager to get away again. King watched it with interest, batting a paw at its fluttering wings.

“Wymack is throwing out a lot of old stuff since the new gear they ordered just came in this morning,” Andrew said, shrugging. “I salvaged it. Ugly little thing.”

Neil let go of the Snitch and it zoomed away merrily, Neil's eyes following it around the room like a cat watching a mouse and waiting for the right moment to pounce. Just as cats sometimes did, Neil slightly misjudged what the right moment was and promptly tumbled off of Jeremy's bed when he missed the Snitch by a hair's breadth. The resulting crash was loud enough to have been heard in the common room below and Andrew tried not to imagine what Jeremy and Matt would think they were doing.

A pitiful “ow” came from the crumpled heap on the floor that was Neil. The Snitch zipped past Andrew's right shoulder and his hand shot out instinctively, closing around the small orb.

“Nice reflexes!” Neil grinned, pulling himself up on a bedpost. “That's a draw, then. Let's go again.”

“This isn't a competition,” Andrew said, releasing the Snitch. Neil promptly lunged after it and snatched it out of the air with a triumphant yell.

“Two to one,” he panted, grinning, and nearly stumbled over the cuffs of his jeans as he trod on them. “Up your game, Minyard.”

“I hate you,” Andrew said.

Neil let the Snitch go and they both dove after it at the same time, landing in a messy pile on the floor with another mighty crash, the Snitch already zooming away and into an open wardrobe where it buzzed around inside Matt's cloak. King slunk after it and peered curiously around the door of the wardrobe.

Belatedly, Andrew became aware that Neil was lying on top of him.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growled, pushing, and Neil rolled sideways with a laugh. They both lay on the floor catching their breath, and then the Snitch bounced back out of the wardrobe and Neil stuck up his hand. Impossibly, the Snitch zoomed right into his open palm.

“Three to one,” he smirked. “I win.”

“Like hell,” Andrew snarled and squeezed his wrist until Neil released the Snitch again.

When they came out an hour later, dishevelled and breathless, Jeremy flashed Andrew a thumbs-up from across the common room and Matt held both hands up for high fives.

Andrew ignored them and walked Neil back to Slytherin. When he came back the pillow fort was gone from the common room and the dorms were occupied once more, though someone had studiously drawn the curtains around Andrew's rumpled bed and there was a note on his pillow that said _Well done!!!_ under a row of carefully drawn smiley faces and hearts.

Andrew crumpled it up and tossed it on the floor.

*

Somehow, Kevin managed to talk Wymack into letting the Slytherins book the newly cleaned up pitch for extra practice sessions the moment it was announced that the pitch was ready. Wymack and Andrew sat bundled up in the stands early on Saturday morning, about equal amounts of grumpy at having to be up at this ungodly hour, both smoking illicit cigarettes and drinking black coffee they'd snagged from the Great Hall before they'd been dragged down here by an overexcited Kevin. Andrew watched the way Neil performed reckless manoeuvre after risky stunt, too tired to deal with his stupidity – if he wanted to die so badly, there were less idiotic ways to go – so he kept his eyes on Neil's legs and arse instead, opting to at least get the maximum enjoyment out of this inconvenience.

“He seems to be coping alright, all things considered,” Wymack said, also watching Neil, and Andrew stared at him in bafflement for breaking their unspoken agreement not to talk to each other during these practices. Wymack shrugged. “Just saying. Kid looked really spooked the other day.”

Andrew didn't deign to answer – he didn't think there was anything to answer, as there hadn't been a question in the first place.

“He's one hell of a flyer,” Wymack continued as if Andrew had just invited him to tell him more. “I've been talking him up to some of the national team scouts, here's hoping they were listening. Be a shame if he didn't get signed on somewhere at the end of the year.”

“He lacks technique,” Andrew said idly, then cursed himself for speaking up. “Half the time he nearly gets himself killed making a spectacular catch but then he fumbles the easy ones. He is erratic.”

“He needs training, that's all,” Wymack grunted. Then he said: “Glad to see he's got some friends. I went to school with his mum, strange woman. And after the ugly business with his old man...”

“He's fine,” Andrew said automatically, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the cold dregs of his coffee.

“Sure he is,” Wymack said. “Let's keep it that way.”

After the odd conversation in the stands with Wymack the day didn't get much better for Andrew. At lunch, everyone was buzzing with plans and excitement about the upcoming Valentine's Day, Aaron tried to get Andrew to talk about what they were going to do for the anniversary of Tilda's death and if they should take the day off school to visit her grave, and Neil was once again beleaguered by giggling girls who weren't deterred by the dark looks Andrew sent their way. Kevin was nervous about the upcoming Quidditch match with Ravenclaw and kept asking Andrew whether he thought Riko was going to show up again. To top everything off, Andrew's tea leaves insisted on spelling silly things at the bottom of his cup no matter how many times he rinsed them.

He remained in a bad mood over the next few days, not helped by Bee insisting he do a few extra sessions of crystal gazing with her before the N.E.W.T.s or the stormy weather that was brewing over the grounds and finally released its fury when he was late to Herbology. There was, of course, no one around whose umbrella charm he could hijack before he got completely soaked. Aaron cast an unimpressed look at him when he slipped into the greenhouse, dripping pathetically, and hit him with a drying charm so potent it left his clothes steaming and his lips chapped. Andrew nearly lost a finger to a particularly temperamental Venomous Tentacula he was supposed to be pruning because he couldn't immobilise it with his wand and was too distracted by the sound of thunder over the lake.

Valentine's Day fell on a Hogsmeade Saturday. Not that Andrew cared – he wasn't going to go to Hogsmeade since Neil wasn't allowed and Valentine's Day was a gross abomination of a day in an overall gross abomination of a month; never mind how many times Jeremy, Matt, Allison or any of the others tried to get him to tell them what he had planned for his boyfriend while they were all out of the castle. There were, apparently, several bets circulating among them, and Andrew wondered tetchily what it was about him and Neil that inspired so much invasive curiosity as opposed to all the other couples who were acting much more couple-y on this day.

Blissfully, the castle started to empty after breakfast. Andrew stayed at the Slytherin table, calmly buttering another scone and watching all the annoying people disappear one after the other, including Kevin, whom he'd relinquished into Thea's muscly care for the day. Neil was staring morosely into space, his hands wrapped around a lukewarm mug of tea, and when everyone was gone at last and Neil still hadn't brightened up Andrew decided to drag him to the library and find the most ridiculous Quidditch-related book they had.

The most ridiculous Quidditch-related book they had was actually about American Quodpot, but it was impossible to tickle even a single laugh out of Neil, who just kept gazing wistfully at the clouds beyond the window and restlessly jiggling his leg. Andrew gave up and tried to do homework, found he couldn't concentrate and made Neil accompany him to the kitchens for a snack instead, hoping the house elves would cheer him up, but he only smiled half-heartedly at their antics.

“You're depressing me,” Andrew sighed, finishing his second éclair and licking the chocolate from his fingers. “Let's go outside.”

Neil glanced at him uneasily since he still wasn't supposed to leave the castle without the company of a professor and Andrew rolled his eyes and took hold of his wrist. They didn't go down to the pitch – too exposed, Andrew conceded, and too obvious – and instead followed the path to the greenhouses, where Andrew picked the lock and pulled Neil into the warm, humid interior.

“Deathly plants,” Andrew said, spreading his arms wide. “Always cheers me up. Come and look at the Fanged Geraniums, they're teething.”

“Huh, they look so small and harmless,” Neil said, reaching out a hand. Andrew slapped it away.

“They're not,” he said. “Don't touch them. On second thought, do not touch anything in this greenhouse, everything here is pretty much lethal.”

“You fit right in then,” Neil grinned, backing up against an empty table out of reach of the Fanged Geraniums. Andrew pushed the Venomous Tentacula a little further away as well, just in case they got adventurous, and leaned his hip against the table next to Neil.

“So, is this your idea of a romantic Valentine's date? Getting me alone in a sweltering greenhouse full of poisonous plants?” Neil asked, watching as the Flesh-Eating Flytraps in the aisle opposite devoured a rodent they had caught. It was, thankfully, already dead.

“Why, what were you expecting? Madam Puddifoot's?” Andrew said, his stomach once again clawing at its own lining with the realisation that he was alone with Neil, who had disarmingly pretty blue eyes and ridiculously nice thighs and who somehow didn't mind spending time with Andrew. Even more remarkably, Andrew didn't mind spending time with him, either.

“I like it,” Neil grinned. He pulled himself up on the table and sat dangling his legs. “I'm just trying to figure out if you were planning on killing or kissing me here.”

Everything went slow and thick like treacle for a moment before speeding up again, including Andrew's heartbeat. Neil was still perched on the table, looking expectant. Condensation dripped down the glass panes of the greenhouse. The Flytraps kept snacking on their rodent, slurping softly.

“How about I do both,” Andrew said lowly.

“How about you start with the kissing,” Neil suggested. “Unless you're into the whole necrophilia thing...”

“Why, are you?” Andrew said dryly and Neil laughed. Somehow Andrew had moved and was now standing between Neil's legs, his hands braced either side of Neil's hips on the table.

“Scared, Minyard?” Neil murmured, hooking two fingers in the collar of Andrew's jacket and tugging him closer. Andrew went willingly.

“Of you? Hardly. Of the Venomous Tentacula? Maybe.”

“Prove it,” Neil challenged, their mouths a fraction apart. Andrew could feel his hot breath, despite the already warm air. Sweat was making his shirt stick to him, but he didn't want to take his jacket off when they were just about to – besides, Neil would have only had his sweaty shirt to hold on to then, gross – and then they were kissing, both of them surging forward at the same time and closing the gap, Neil's hand fisted in the front of Andrew's jacket, the other one drifting up to twist in his hair, pulling him in. Andrew barely felt a thing because it was all too much, like not knowing where to look when the whole sky was lit up with fireworks or eating something so spicy your whole mouth went numb.

“Kissing is weird,” Neil muttered against his mouth when he pulled away for breath.

“I could push you into the Venomous Tentacula if you'd rather,” Andrew growled.

“I'd drag you with me,” Neil said, cupping Andrew's jaw in his hands and leaning in again, licking boldly into Andrew's mouth. For a moment a single string of saliva was suspended between their lower lips, trembling under the combined force of their harsh breaths; then Andrew pushed forward again, nearly toppling Neil over backwards with his momentum and knocking his knee against the tabletop.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Andrew was sure his heart would give out any moment at the rate it was going. He pressed his thumb against the pulse point on Neil's wrist but it was steady, the strong, gushing current of it sweeping Andrew away like a river, and they kissed, hungry-angry-slow, clutching at each other, the frothing cold rush of Andrew's thoughts, the lazy drip of the humid air, the jagged edges of Neil's teeth under Andrew's tongue.

“I changed my mind,” Neil said, breaking away from Andrew again, his voice swirling wet and breathless; lips beestung, eyes full of hungry wasps. “Kissing is nice. Really, really nice.”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, and did it again.

When they left the greenhouse, it was dark outside and their clothes were soaked. Andrew felt like he was going to throw up, but in a weirdly good way, like he'd eaten too much chocolate or like the first time he'd flown his brand new Twilight.

Okay, so maybe Nicky was onto something. Maybe kissing was like flying. And Andrew was still just as afraid of heights.

 


	8. Runes and rivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew finally finds out why he's been dreaming about the lake all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: still more visions; violence; blood; something like a ritualistic sacrifice being prepared, I'm not sure how to phrase it but if you need any more info let me know!
> 
> So it's finally time to post the last chapter! I enjoyed writing this so much and I'm so happy that apparently I'm not the only one who has a thing for Hogwarts AUs and that you all liked the story so far. Thank you again to everyone who left a comment, and a big smooch to my bestie who is a little bit superhuman sometimes and managed to beta this chapter even though she's got tons of work this week.
> 
> I'm pretty sure I took some liberties with HP canon in this chapter but... it has plot! That's already a step up from my usual stuff.

The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match took place on the day before Kevin's birthday.

Kevin was insufferable for the entire week leading up to it and Andrew didn't manage to get Neil on his own even once because Kevin insisted on extra practice sessions any time Neil so much as had a free minute and because Bee kept Andrew back after Divination to talk about his crystal gazing. He gave Katelyn's potion another go but the dosage was too high this time and he merely dozed off; waking up groggy and disoriented on Bee's sofa and remembering nothing but the undulating green-grey of lake water pressing in.

It snowed again, wet and miserable. Andrew felt like the universe was conspiring against him when he kept seeing death in the murky dregs of his tea leaves, the crushed bones and frog entrails they were using in Potions, and again in Jean's tarot cards. Jean kept insisting it didn't mean actual death, that it was a good card, but Andrew couldn't help think that this was his cosmic punishment for kissing Neil.

They hadn't talked about it. For all Neil had looked at Andrew in the days following the greenhouse incident they might as well have been strangers.

It was still pretend. It was still empty promises. Andrew had to remind himself that he was used to it; that it didn't matter, that Neil was never going to stick around anyway. It still hurt, like getting caught unexpectedly on the barbs of a usually docile Spiky Bush in your back garden that you'd grown accustomed to over the years.

Despite Kevin's various nervous breakdowns throughout the week, Riko did not show up to the match on Saturday. Andrew prowled the perimeter of the pitch until he heard Wymack's whistle inside, then crept up the stands and kept his gaze on the entrances, barely paying attention to the game. He needn't have, anyway: it was over before it had really started, with Neil catching the Snitch in record time, and the confused crowd erupted in chaos; a loud, roiling mass pouring down the stands and out of the stadium while the Slytherins carried Neil on their shoulders down on the lawn. Andrew didn't join them and waited by the changing rooms instead, still wary and on edge.

The Slytherins combined the after-party of the match with the pre-party to Kevin's birthday, which basically meant a lot of alcohol and obnoxious music. Andrew sat on a window sill in the common room with a goblet of pumpkin juice, his back to the blackness of the lake, and watched as Allison, Dan and Renee took turns spinning Neil around on the dance floor and plying him with Butterbeer until he was giggly and flushed when he collapsed dizzily in Katelyn's lap, much to Aaron's displeasure. A headache was pounding behind Andrew's temples. He kept jerking around, thinking he'd heard voices behind him, but there was only the water pressing up against the glass.

Finally, Neil managed to extricate himself from his teammates and lurched over to Andrew, breathless and triumphant, spilling his limbs over the window sill next to Andrew with a hum.

“Hey,” he whisper-grinned, poking a finger at Andrew's thigh. “You're unsociable tonight.”

“When am I ever sociable,” Andrew said. For a moment, his vision blacked out and he felt so dizzy he wanted to lie down somewhere even deeper and flatter than the ground.

“I miss you,” Neil laughed. Andrew looked at the shape of his mouth and wanted, _wanted_ , but Neil was drunk on victory and Andrew was falling apart at the seams.

“I have to go,” he said, standing up. Everything tilted and then Neil's arms were around him, hot and steady, holding him up.

“Hey,” he said again, right in Andrew's hair. “You can't go back to Hufflepuff like this.”

Andrew nodded. His knees were trembling. His knees had forgotten how to be knees. Neil made it so they remembered, a bit, and led him away from the window. The whispers at his back faded to a distant hiss. Andrew followed Neil – Andrew would have followed Neil anywhere – but as it was, they were only going to the Slytherin dorms and then Neil was guiding him down onto a bed, silky sheets mussed, a gingery smell nestled deep in the pillow. Neil's bed.

“You can sleep here tonight,” Neil was saying, far away. “It's okay. I'll stay here. It's okay.”

Detachedly, Andrew noticed that his hand was holding on to Neil's hand. He didn't know where his pumpkin juice had gone, or his shoes. Neil sat next to him and squeezed his hand. Neil told him he'd stay and he stayed.

Andrew dreamt of the lake.

*

The next day Andrew felt slow and unbearably heavy. He woke up early but Neil wasn't there and getting out of Neil's bed seemed like an impossible task. His mind kept fraying back into his dream, muffled voices rising out of the depths around him, the light that filtered through the curtains sluggish and grey. Nobody came to wake him and he finally dragged himself out of bed around noon, his eyes a screaming rhapsody of agony for forgetting to take his contacts out. He stumbled past the debris of the party and a few hungover Slytherin-coloured lumps feeling sorry for themselves and just about made it back to the Hufflepuff dorms where he took out his contacts and collapsed back into his own bed.

It was mid-afternoon by the time the fog in his brain started to lift. He took a shower, the warm water burning hot on his oversensitive skin, put on whatever clothes were within reach and dug his glasses out from the bottom of his trunk because his eyes were still far too sore for his contacts. His stomach contracted with hunger so he ate some of Matt's emergency chocolate biscuits, but the feeling didn't really go away.

There was a tentative knock on the door. Tentative meant it wasn't any of Andrew's dorm mates.

“Andrew?”

Neil stuck his head inside, his blue, blue eyes immediately zeroing in on Andrew, who felt shabby and gross despite his shower. His eyes were probably bright red.

“Hey,” Neil said, his voice rough and soft at the same time. He had a nice voice, Andrew thought absently, fiddling with his sleeve. It went kind of high when he got excited, but not in an annoying way. Andrew wished he could make it do that. With his hands, maybe, or his mouth.

“How are you feeling? I was worried about you.”

Andrew opened his mouth but it took a while for the words to catch up.

“Fine,” he managed at last, “just tired.”

“Okay,” Neil said. “Can I come in?”

Andrew shrugged and Neil interpreted this as a yes.

“Kevin went back to bed, too,” he said, perching on Jeremy's trunk. He was wearing a t-shirt – maybe he'd been running up and down the stairs again. Andrew liked it when he did that and hated it at the same time. He wanted to reach out and see whether Neil was hot and sweaty, but his hands were too heavy so he left them in his lap.

“He was really hungover,” Neil continued with a small grin. “It's a shame you missed him crying on Jeremy last night. Jeremy was so flustered.”

“I've seen enough of Kevin crying to last me a lifetime,” Andrew said.

“Fair enough,” Neil chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while, until Neil asked if Andrew had had any lunch and Andrew said “chocolate biscuits.” That didn't seem to count as lunch, so Neil went away again and came back with a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge and some bananas. Andrew eyed those warily and Neil peeled one for him and sliced it neatly with a spell, arranging it on top of his porridge. Andrew shrugged and ate them too.

He felt a little more human after that and they sat and talked about the game – well, Neil talked about the game and Andrew listened, drinking in his words and the way his hands helped out when he didn't know how to express himself adequately; how his eyes shone, how his aura quieted; safe and content.

The illusion shattered when the door burst open and Jean stumbled in, white as a sheet. A scroll of parchment was clutched to his chest.

“Kevin,” he panted, unable to continue. He thrust the note at Andrew, his eyes pleading, and Andrew was on his feet in a flash. The note was addressed to Kevin from Riko – stark, precise handwriting, expensive ink, the Moriyama seal pompous and fussy on the thick parchment in blood red wax. Nervous hands had almost crumbled it to pieces when they had torn open the scroll.

The words swam in front of Andrew's aching eyes. He shoved the parchment at Neil with a garbled demand to tell him what it said and Neil quickly skimmed it, gnawing worriedly on his bottom lip.

“He wants Kevin to meet him by the lake to – to talk, and make amends,” he said and scoffed. “That's not – Kevin can't seriously have believed that?”

“It's Kevin,” Andrew said. “Of course he believed it.”

He was out the door before Neil could respond, Jean hurrying after him, wringing his hands.

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going down to the lake,” Andrew said calmly. He'd been dreaming about it for months: finally he knew why.

“Andrew,” Neil called, catching up with them, “don't go alone.”

“I will get the others,” Jean said around a gulp and fell back. Andrew didn't care. He tore up a flight of steps, taking them two at a time; then down a hidden passageway, skidding around corners; Neil easily kept pace with him, his wand already drawn.

Something warm unfurled in the depths of Andrew's stomach. For once, he wasn't alone.

It was getting dark outside when they raced across the grounds toward the lake. Storm clouds were once again piled up under the sky and a harsh wind blew in their faces, damp and merciless, turning the path down to the lake into a treacherous slope. Andrew stopped for a moment to catch his breath and look around but there was no sign of either Kevin or Riko. The wind yanked at the sparse grass growing along the shore like an impatient mother brushing her child's hair.

“Where are they?” Andrew muttered, rotating on the spot.

“You go right, I'll go left,” Neil suggested. “We can send up sparks if we find them.”

“I'm not letting you run off on your own,” Andrew snapped. Before he had to decide, though, Neil pointed up the path where a group of people were making their way down to meet them: Jean, Renee and Allison, Katelyn and Aaron, Dan and Matt, Jeremy, Thea, Laila and Alvarez. The warmth in Andrew's stomach swelled but was quickly tamped down by clammy panic again. He'd promised. He'd promised to protect Kevin. All of it had been for nothing if he'd failed now. Of course Riko would come for him on his birthday. Of course Riko would come.

He dimly heard Neil direct the others and they split up in pairs, some sticking close to the shore, some heading up the path again for a wider circuit; all of them with their wands out, calling Kevin's name. Andrew and Neil ran down the path closest to the water and rain began to pelt them in earnest, making it hard to see very far beyond their immediate surroundings. Neil lit his wand with a murmured “Lumos” and shone it at the path ahead, but everything was deserted and Andrew felt hysteria bubbling up in him.

“Where the fuck are they,” he snarled, slapping at reeds that tore up his sleeve with their sharp edges. He couldn't see any of the others' lit wands anymore and the lake was deathly silent despite the roar of the wind and the lashing of the rain. Just as he was about to suggest Neil cast a Point-Me Charm there was a flash of light in the periphery of his vision and he whirled around.

“What was that?”

“I don't know,” Neil said breathlessly, “looked like a spell.”

He pointed his wand out over the water and they waited, tense, until they saw it again. Whatever it was, it wasn't far from the shore, and Andrew was kicking off his shoes before his brain had caught up with his body.

“What are you doing?” Neil asked. His voice had gone all tight again, though not in the way Andrew had fantasised about. He almost had to laugh. It was testament to how fucked up he was that he had to think about kissing Neil in a situation like this.

“Can you swim?” he asked. Neil nodded, then hastily stepped out of his shoes and took off the cloak he'd grabbed before they'd come outside and tossed it away.

“Here,” he said, casting a quick warming charm over both of them. Andrew hadn't noticed he was shaking. He felt like he was burning up.

“Let's go,” Neil said, and they dove into the water at the same time.

It was cold. It was like having a fever. It hurt.

Andrew kicked his legs hard and came up for air. Next to him, Neil did the same. They both struck out for the flare of light they'd seen, though it hadn't appeared again. Uneasiness settled in the pit of Andrew's stomach. Had Riko come back to finish the job? Had he taken Kevin away and they were just chasing after a Grindylow? He couldn't stop now, though. He'd promised. He owed it to Kevin to at least try.

They reached the approximate spot but the water remained grey and unyielding. No corpse was floating on the water. No sign of Kevin Day.

“Andrew,” Neil said, his voice shaking slightly with exertion, “I don't think he's here.”

“No shit,” Andrew hissed. He took a deep breath and dove, but it was impossible to see anything in the murky water, and his eyes stung when he opened them. He nearly lost his glasses and came back up, treading water, feeling helpless.

“Something's not right,” Neil said. They were further from the shore than they had been a moment ago. “Let's turn back –”

Something grabbed Andrew by the ankle and adrenaline spiked through him with such ferocity that he forgot to breathe. That was unfortunate, because the next moment he was dragged underwater. His legs kicked out but whatever it was only gripped tighter, and then he felt the pull of something else like a fishing hook behind his navel and everything went dark.

*

“Well, well, well, seems we hit a jackpot, Romero. Two for the price of one. Must be our lucky day. Grab his wand, quick.”

Andrew opened his eyes and coughed up lake water. He was lying on a cold stone floor, sopping wet, and someone had bound his wrists together behind his back. He tried the ropes; they didn't give. Conjured, probably.

At least he had through some miracle managed to hold on to his glasses.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” said the same woman who had spoken before. Andrew looked up and saw her leaning over Neil, who was similarly bound and thrashing violently. A man – Romero, presumably – came up and bound his legs as well, tight enough to bruise.

“Long time no see,” said Lola Malcolm. Neil spat in her face.

Her brother flung a vicious stinging hex at him in retaliation that ended up slicing open his cheek. Blood dribbled down and Lola reached out a hand to touch her fingers to it, smearing it down over Neil's mouth.

“Rude as ever,” she clucked, the humour gone from her voice. “We never did manage to teach you any manners. No one can say we didn't try, though, isn't that right, Romero?”

Romero grunted and checked the ropes on Andrew's hands. Andrew lay quietly, locking eyes with Neil. He'd expected fury, but all he saw was a chilling resignation now.

“Mr Minyard,” Lola said, as if suddenly remembering Andrew's presence. “Our guest of honour. Please excuse the rough welcome, we were rather desperate to get you away from that pesky flying instructor who kept interfering with our plans to pay our beloved Nathaniel a visit. Wymack, was it? No matter. He will be dealt with when all this unpleasantness is over.”

Lola crouched down in front of Andrew. She was wearing long dark robes and high-heeled boots that were so polished Andrew could almost see his reflection in them.

“Let him go,” Neil said the second Lola reached for Andrew. She laughed and petted Andrew's head like he was a harmless animal – Andrew had not forgotten what the Wesninski people did to harmless animals and couldn't help flinching back from the touch.

“You can put a memory charm on him,” Neil pleaded, a desperate edge to his voice like he knew it was futile either way. “You don't want him, you want me, and you have me now, so just –”

“Silly Nathaniel,” Lola chided. “We do not let people go. Your dear Andrew is our insurance for your good behaviour. Congratulations again on finding yourself a boyfriend, Nathaniel. How very convenient for us.” 

She stood up and as if on cue Romero yanked Neil up onto his knees by his hair. Neil didn't give him the satisfaction of crying out, though it must have hurt.

Stupid, Andrew heard himself thinking. Stupid martyr.

They were both so stupid.

Lola walked away, and for the first time Andrew took a look around the room while she was distracted. His breath froze in his lungs when his eyes landed on the figure sitting slumped in a chair next to a long table. The Wesninski coat of armour lined the walls, interspersed with lit sconces and tapestries: they were on the Wesninski estate, and Nathan Wesninski's soulless body was breathing mere feet away from them.

Neil seemed to notice at the same time, though the only sound he made was a choked, aborted gasp. Romero was still holding him by the hair, pushing his head down, and Lola picked up a few knives from the table, testing the blades against her thumb and licking up the blood she drew.

“Andrew Joseph Minyard,” Lola said. “Second generation Seer; disappointingly, also a Squib. What a waste of good talent. I suppose no one will miss you very much, hm?”

Andrew didn't reply. He could feel Neil's gaze on him but kept his eyes on Lola's boots, even when Romero moved over to him to pull him up as well.

“Of course,” Lola continued, “dear Mary's position might just be vacant soon. We may have use for you yet. It all depends on your good behaviour – and yours, Nathaniel. I'm afraid we've no vacancies for you, but then you'll be dead by the end of the ritual either way. Don't worry, it won't hurt for long.”

Neil turned his eyes on her, about to say something scathing no doubt, but she swung the first knife without preamble and added another deep slash to Neil's bleeding cheek. Then she scooped some of the blood off with the blunt end of the knife and dropped both on the floor, which Andrew saw had been painted with chalky runes in a circle around Neil.

“So brave,” she mocked when Neil still didn't make a sound.

“Fuck you.”

Next she ripped a small chunk of hair from his head and dropped that into the circle as well. The symbols around him started to glow powdery white as Romero began casting spells, murmuring under his breath.

“What now, Lola?” Neil taunted when Lola came back with another knife. “Need some fingernail clippings? Want me to piss in a goblet for you?”

His father's grin was strung tight on his face whereas the real Nathan was still lolling in his seat like a rag doll, face vacant and unseeing. They were going to try and bring him back to life, Andrew realised with a jolt. He didn't know how, or if it could even be done, but they were going to try.

“It would be more entertaining if you pissed your pants again,” Lola said, unmoved. “I still remember fondly the first Cruciatus your father cast on you.”

“Doesn't ring a bell,” Neil grinned with blood in his teeth. “The memories sort of blur together at some point for me.”

Just as Lola was holding the knife over her own arm to add her blood to the circle, Neil suddenly lurched forward and caught it between his teeth, ramming it forward into her wrist with his momentum. She squealed in shock and pain, blood spurting out from under the blade, and Romero was by her side in an instant, dragging her away and pointing his wand at the wound.

“Idiot!” she screeched, “keep casting! We can't delay the ritual!”

She shoved at him until he returned to his earlier position; then, chest heaving, she pulled the knife free of her arm and closed up the hole with her wand. It was a patchy job, but then, Andrew supposed, her talent lay in carving people up, not putting them back together.

“Don't act so childish, now, Nathaniel,” she panted, tossing the second knife into the circle as well. “You never did know your place.”

“I thought my place was right here, on my knees in front of you,” Neil said. The grin was still there, like a splinter wedged into his jaw. It looked painful. It looked scary. Andrew understood now, about wanting to claw it off his face.

“Time for you to shut your smart mouth,” Lola hissed, her flaring nostrils a sign of her waning patience. She struck him with a silencing charm. It did not silence his grin.

Then she flicked her wand again and Neil's t-shirt went up in flames.

Andrew could see him screaming, even though the sound was completely stifled by the charm. It only lasted a moment; then the flames were gone as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving Neil bare from the waist up and heaving, his skin red and shiny and blistering where the flames had touched him. Even his Glamour had burned off, leaving his scars on full display.

“Neil,” Andrew said, helpless, and Neil lifted his head to lock eyes with him.

_I'm fine_ , he mouthed and had the audacity to smile. Andrew hated him.

Romero kept chanting as Lola used her wand to draw the same runes on Neil's upper body that were painted on the floor, and they glowed in an answering echo. Desperate to stop the procedure somehow, Andrew started struggling against his bonds but neither Lola nor Romero paid him much mind. He was useless without magic.

If only he'd remembered to pocket his shitty second-hand wand before they'd left the castle, then maybe he could have somehow passed it over to Neil without them noticing.

“What kind of a ritual is this anyway?” he asked in a transparent attempt at distraction. His voice sounded cracked and dry. “You want to – what, revive him? How can you restore a soul that's been sucked out by a Dementor? It's not possible.”

“It is if you've got enough nerve,” Lola snapped. “Nathan is a smart man. He had the foresight to ensure a part of his soul would live on so we could return it to his body when the time came.”

“How?” Andrew asked again. When Lola ignored him, he tried: “If I'm going to be working for you, I want to know if my boss is going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life or not.”

“He made Nathaniel into a Horcrux,” Romero blurted out, sounding reverent. People never could resist an opportunity to boast, Andrew thought, and then Romero's words caught up with him and his whole body seized up in pin and needles, like someone had stuck him in a freezer and was only just thawing him out.

“Shut up, you stupid oaf!” Lola snapped furiously. Clearly she didn't think that Andrew needed to know the details of what they were doing. She'd finished with the symbols and dug her fingers into the last one, making Neil tremble and wince as she pressed her nails into his burnt skin. Romero dutifully went back to chanting and Lola turned to Andrew, her wand raised.

“Shame,” she said, “you were so nice and quiet up until now. Guess we'll just have to find ourselves another Seer. Maybe your grandmother would be interested.”

Andrew couldn't help it. He laughed.

“Good luck with that,” he said, and his last thought before Lola cast her killing curse was that all of those stupid tea leaves and bird bones and ugly omens had been for him, but he'd never got to live the vision of Neil holding his hand and telling him he was amazing. He felt the ghost of Neil's lips brushing over his knuckles and tried to hold on to that as green light filled his vision.

And then it stopped.

Andrew was still there, and Lola was still there, her wand still pointing at him, a scream on her lips. Andrew couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears but he could still see it rising from her mouth like smoke.

Neil lay crumpled in front of him, face down and still. He'd thrown himself in front of Andrew at the last moment, but before Andrew could process this impossibility, the world erupted into chaos around him.

Red light flared at the corner of his vision and somewhere Romero hit the floor. Andrew saw the brilliant flash of white as Lola threw up a shield charm around herself. More spells rent the air, pummelling Lola's shield and bouncing off the walls. A jet of light narrowly avoided Andrew's arm, jolting him back to awareness, and he curved forward over Neil's unmoving body, trying to protect him from the cacophony of spells, refusing to accept that he was dead, that he had died in Andrew's stead – he was going to be alright, he had to, mostly so Andrew could kill him all over again for doing something so  _stupid_ –

Someone turned the sound back on in his head.

“ _Where is the bitch?_ ” Lola yelled furiously, backed into the table by the onslaught of spells still slamming into her shield and hurling curses of her own in the direction of the doorway. Something finally cracked through the veneer of her shield and Andrew noticed at the same time that his bonds had dissipated when Romero had been Stunned, and that the knife Lola had used to cut Neil with was still lying on the floor in the smudged ritual circle.

“Come out, come out, Mary dear!” Lola shouted, her Entrail-Expelling Curse gouging a deep claw mark into the wall. Stone and plaster rained down on Andrew, and in the ensuing mess he managed to pick up the knife unseen.

Somehow Nathan was still sitting in his chair, unharmed and untouched by the fight going on around him. His eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. Andrew felt nothing as he aimed, nothing as he threw the knife; nothing as it lodged itself in the centre of his chest and blood seeped slowly out into the fabric of his robes.

It was like stabbing a corpse.

Suddenly the remains of the chalk circle on the floor blew away in a nonexistent wind and Lola was distracted for long enough that a spell slammed past the barrier of her shield and knocked her unconscious. It hadn't been green, which Andrew found unfortunate, but one could always hope that it had done some other form of permanent damage to her.

The sudden silence rang in his ears like a gunshot.

Dust trickled down from the ceiling and the air still crackled and sparked with the pent-up magic from the duel. In his chair, Nathan Wesninski was dying for good.

Out of the doorway stepped his ex-wife, unscathed, and bound the Malcolm siblings in thick ropes from her wand. She picked up both of their wands as well as the one Lola had taken from Neil, inspected and pocketed them. Last, she bent over Nathan and looked at the spreading stain around the knife; then she wrenched the blade out of the wound and calmly slit his throat for good measure.

She let the knife clatter to the floor and walked over to where Andrew was still crouched over Neil.

“Did she kill him?” she asked. Her voice didn't flinch from the words. Andrew, in contrast, was shaking like a leaf and could barely be persuaded to move even an inch away from Neil's body. Mary looked at him again and he nodded, and for a moment his vision went fuzzy and he thought he might be crying.

He hadn't cried since he was seven.

“Good,” Mary said. “She had his wand, that ought to have done the trick. Give him a few more minutes.”

Andrew didn't understand what she was saying. He curled back over Neil's body as she stood up and cast a shimmering crow Patronus, muttering instructions at it. The crow took flight and was gone. In the corner Romero stirred and groaned and Mary sent another Stunner after him, then folded her hands demurely in front of her body amid the wreckage of the room and waited.

Minutes slid by.

Andrew's mind was sand, slipping through the fingers of his consciousness. His cheeks were wet, but all he felt was numbness and the eerie stillness of Neil's body underneath him.

Then, suddenly, there was a jolt and a gasp and Andrew scrambled off him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him on his back. His eyes were open, the same blue as ever. Breath was rushing into his lungs in deep gulps. His pulse was wild like a rain-lashed river when Andrew gripped his wrist; overflowing, cleansing, flooding the dread from Andrew's system.

“You're alive,” Andrew said, the words broken like seashells washed up on a distant shore. “You fuck.”

Neil spasmed a little but kept breathing, and Andrew let Mary lean down over him and examine him. His eyes slid shut again and Andrew panicked, fingers digging into his wrist to chase the pulse there, which stopped roaring and evened out into a gentle rush.

“He'll be fine,” Mary told him, gently in as much as her brittle voice could carry gentleness. “I was hoping she would only kill the Horcrux. Looks like we're in luck.”

“Did you hope or did you know?” Andrew asked her, croaky and hoarse even though he hadn't been the one screaming.

Mary was silent for a moment, her hand brushing absent-mindedly over her son's hair.

“I sent him to Hogwarts, didn't I?” she finally said. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either, and Andrew understood what she meant. Even Seers didn't always see everything. Even perfect visions could turn out to be wrong.

The Aurors came pouring in a moment later. Andrew let Mary deal with them and stopped talking altogether. He pulled Neil's head into his lap and held on to his wrist until two Aurors came to take them both to St. Mungo's. Andrew didn't care about anything that happened around him. He let the nurses cast drying and warming charms at him, stared at the twitchy runes of the diagnostic spells, drank whatever potions were offered to him. He had a weird reaction to one of them and a nurse snapped at him for not telling them that he was a Squib – some potions had to be adjusted to account for the different physiology; he dimly remembered Katelyn talking about this, but even when they made him throw up into a bucket Andrew couldn't find it in himself to care.

Finally, they put him in a bed and left him alone. He didn't want to lie down so he sat on the floor by the window, knees pulled up to his chest, and looked down at his hand. Why had he ever let go of Neil? He didn't even know where they'd taken him. If he was still breathing. If the river of his pulse was still flowing through his veins.

The door opened, admitting Aaron and Nicky. Andrew could see more people outside, arguing with the nurses and causing a scene, but then the door fell shut again and Nicky crouched down in front of him, trembling.

“Andrew,” he said, reaching for him. “Are you okay?”

Andrew looked at Aaron.

“Kevin?”

“We found him,” Aaron said, “he was Stunned but otherwise fine. They took him to the hospital wing and he woke up an hour ago. Some of the others stayed with him. No trace of Riko.”

The last bit of tension inside Andrew unwound all at once and he slumped forwards. Maybe the floor hadn't been such a good idea after all.

“Here, let's get you into bed,” Nicky said gently and wedged his shoulder under Andrew's arm, pulling him up. Aaron took his other side – unnecessary, Andrew could walk – and they led him over to the bed and helped him lie down.

“What happened?” Aaron asked, his voice so small; the sound of it scurrying away like a mouse. Andrew didn't like that. Andrew needed his brother to be angry and bold, to lash out, to grab what he wanted before someone else took it away. He couldn't be small, not when Andrew was this hollow, this useless. One of them had to be functional.

“The Aurors said the Malcolms kidnapped you and Neil for some dark ritual,” Nicky said cautiously. “They said they were trying to... to revive Nathan.”

He shuddered and Aaron looked slightly sick at his side. Andrew nodded because he didn't have the energy to make any words yet.

“But they didn't succeed, right?” Nicky asked, desperate. “Nathan is dead for good, the Malcolms are back in Azkaban, and you and Neil are safe, right?”

Andrew shrugged and stared into space. The door was flung open again and Andrew's classmates spilled into the room like light from a just-cast Lumos, filling up the empty space. Katelyn was there first, shouldering Aaron out of the way and climbing half on the bed to throw her arms around Andrew who froze in the embrace. Renee was next, lightly curling her hand around Andrew's on the sheets. Behind her was Jean, big-eyed and pale, with a steaming mug from the cafeteria that he didn't seem to know what to do with. Jeremy and Matt were last, Matt plonking an arm around Nicky's shoulders and pulling him in for a hug, which Nicky clung to gratefully.

Nobody said anything for a while, but Andrew was pretty sure Katelyn was crying against his shoulder.

“Where's Neil,” Andrew finally managed to ask. Everyone started talking at once.

“They haven't let us see him yet,” Matt complained bitterly, “they've put him in a magical coma, his mother made a big stink about it but they wouldn't even let her in, and then the Aurors took her away for questioning –”

“His uncle is with him now,” Renee said gently. “I'm sure they're doing what they can for him, we just need to wait a little while. Andrew, how are you feeling?”

Andrew shrugged, jostling Katelyn who pulled away from him at last and wiped her face on her sleeve.

“You could have been killed,” she said thickly, “you _would_ have been killed – when we realised you two were gone – Thea found Kevin stuffed into the gear room at the pitch, there was no sign of Riko anywhere –”

“Lola used Kevin to lure Neil and Andrew out of the castle,” Jean said grimly. “Allison said that if we can prove the note really was from Riko, he could get into trouble for aiding and abetting.”

“He'll probably weasel his way out of it,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “We can't prove he was doing it to help the Malcolms get to Neil and Andrew.”

“Neil is still going to tear him a new one for it when he wakes up,” Matt said proudly.

“ _If_ he wakes up,” Jean snapped, and just like that they were plunged back into silence again.

“Of course he's going to wake up,” Nicky sniffled, still leaning against Matt. “He just – needs to rest.”

“His father turned him into a Horcrux,” Andrew said. There was a collective intake of breath and Andrew concentrated on his next words with difficulty. “His mother said... when Lola killed him... she actually killed the part of Nathan's soul in him.”

“Lola _killed_ him?”

“What the fuck, Andrew?”

“She was going to kill me,” Andrew murmured, exhausted already from all the talking. “But then Neil threw himself in front of me and she hit him instead, and he was dead but... then he wasn't. His mother said something about that doing the trick. I don't know.”

He leaned back against his pillows, then reached out a hand for the mug Jean was still holding.

“Oh,” Jean said, jolting out of his shock, “hot chocolate. For you.”

Andrew took it and drank, and for the first time since before the lake he actually felt warm. It was just shitty low-quality cocoa powder dissolved in hot water with some extra sugar dumped in, but it was the best thing he'd had all day. He noticed that he was hungry and that someone had bandaged up his arm and put his ankle in a magical splint even though he couldn't remember hurting either.

“Why did he turn his own son into a Horcrux?” Matt asked, looking nauseated. “Why not just use an object or – I don't know –”

“Because it's harder to destroy a human Horcrux than an object-based one, and animal Horcruxes are unstable unless they're really powerful magical creatures,” Katelyn said. “Also, a soul stored in an object becomes less... human, over time. And I suppose the idea of a gory dark ritual where they sacrificed Neil for his father would have appealed to them.”

Matt gaped at her.

“You're scary sometimes, you know? All that knowledge in your brain. Are you sure you're not planning on becoming a dark witch and killing us all?”

Katelyn smiled wryly and patted his arm.

“Thanks Matt, that's so sweet of you. I'll remember your compliments when I take over the world, maybe I'll let you live so you can tell me nice things about myself whenever lording it over the Muggles gets me down.”

“You're welcome,” Matt said weakly.

“Katelyn,” Aaron said, and Matt stepped out of his way to let him through. He looked like he'd pulled an all-nighter in the library – hair askew, glasses smudged, ink splotches on his shirt collar and the cuffs of his sleeves – but there was a light in his eyes that Andrew sincerely hoped was not something he and Aaron shared in terms of physical traits, because it made him look like a complete idiot.

“Yes, Aaron?” Katelyn hummed, amused when Aaron didn't say anything for a long moment. All of a sudden, he dropped down on one knee in front of her and clumsily grabbed her hand.

“Will you marry me?”

Matt and Jeremy gasped in perfect synchrony and Jean, startled, swore in French. Renee just hid a smile behind her hand and Katelyn blinked down at her boyfriend, for once clearly at a loss for words.

Andrew really did need to look into the business of having someone Obliviate him.

Aaron stared up at Katelyn, jaw clenched tight and scowling like he was expecting her to slap him. Katelyn's mouth opened and closed a few times and Jeremy and Matt kept nudging each other frantically with their elbows.

Finally, Katelyn said: “Aaron Michael Minyard, you are such an  _arse_ . I was going to ask you first.”

“Is that a yes?” Aaron grinned. Andrew tried to remember the last time he'd seen his brother smile like that but he couldn't. He looked different; alien. Like someone whose life hadn't been tainted by Andrew's existence in it.

“Fuck yes,” Katelyn breathed, thankfully not crying this time, then pulled him up to cheers and whoops and reeled him in by his shirt collar for a filthy kiss.

“Someone Stun me,” Andrew said but was summarily ignored.

His friends were all fucking traitors.

*

Neil was kept in a coma for several more days and Andrew reluctantly went back to Hogwarts when Bee owled him to say that she would personally make him repeat the year if he missed any more classes. Kevin wouldn't stop apologising to him for not telling him about Riko's note and for going off without him; Aaron and Katelyn were as insufferable engaged as they had been before, and everyone was getting antsy about the upcoming exams. Andrew didn't care about his grades and spent a lot of time helping Hernandez build a pen for a couple of flying horses that had been freed from captivity – the guy had a serious thing for taking in strays, Andrew thought, so it was really no surprise that they got on well enough in that department.

Neil's mother sent Andrew an owl at the end of the week, informing him briskly that Neil had woken up the night before and that he was welcome to accompany the school nurse when she went to pick him up later that day. Despite his promise to Bee, Andrew skipped his last lesson of the afternoon – it was only History, anyway, he could read up on what he'd missed at the weekend – and went down to the hospital wing where Ms Winfield was delegating tasks for Aaron and Katelyn to take over in her absence.

They took the Floo to St. Mungo's and Andrew left her to fill out the paperwork and went ahead to Neil's room. Neil was awake when he walked in, propped up on pillows, wearing silly hospital robes and – unsurprisingly – arguing with a portrait of an old healer that was mounted on the wall opposite his bed. Andrew wondered if aggravating portraits was a habit Neil had acquired over the years of being stuck inside an empty house with no company or if he just liked picking fights and causing trouble wherever he went.

“Andrew!”

His whole face went up in a smile. It was so devastating it might as well have been an explosion and Andrew needed a moment to catch his breath.

“Fucking finally,” he said when he approached Neil's bed. For some reason his heart was beating a mile a minute, throbbing painfully in his throat. Neil reached out to snatch up Andrew's hand and pulled it in his lap, tracing the lines in his palms like he'd missed them, like he was reassuring himself they were still there.

“Thank you,” Neil said, the words shuddering on a sigh. “You were amazing.”

Something inside Andrew swelled at the words until it was pressing against the lining of his stomach, his chest, his mouth. He felt sore and inflamed, oversensitive and touch-starved at the same time, and he shuddered when Neil pulled his hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles before turning it around to nuzzle into his palm. His skin felt dry and soft under Andrew's fingertips and he seemed to have acquired a few extra freckles since the last time Andrew had seen him up close, which was weird because the weather was still a fucking travesty. Even Kevin was starting to exhibit signs of cabin fever and he didn't usually cancel Quidditch practice for anything short of a blizzard.

“You were an idiot,” Andrew told him as Neil let go of his hand again. “Could've told me about the Horcrux thing. Between Kevin's obsessive tendencies and Katelyn the walking lexicon we might have found a way to rid you of it before you went and got yourself killed by a sadistic lunatic. Fucking martyr.”

Neil looked sheepish and touched his hand to his cheek where it had scarred from Lola's knives.

“I – yeah,” he said, “guess I'm not used to having friends I can ask for help.”

_Me neither_ , Andrew didn't say.

“Is it true what Lola said?” Neil asked after a moment. “That you're a Squib?”

Andrew shrugged and nodded.

“How is that even possible?” Neil wondered, once more linking their fingers together absently. “I mean, Aaron isn't, is he? I've seen him cast spells...”

“He's not,” Andrew confirmed. “You'd better ask Katelyn about it. She'll give you a twenty minute lecture on genetics if you let her.”

“I will,” Neil grinned, squeezing his hand. “Guess I'd better give you back your lighter, then.”

Andrew glared at him, and then Neil scooted a little closer on the bed and leaned into his space.

“So, are the poisonous plants a requirement for kissing you or can I do that again?”

Andrew let out a rough sigh, fisted his hand in the front of Neil's hospital robes and kissed him silly for a couple of minutes, ignoring the scandalised protests of the portrait Neil had been arguing with earlier, until Ms Winfield pointedly knocked on the still open door and told them to get ready. They broke apart reluctantly and Neil peppered Andrew's mouth with small, soft kisses; then made him help him get dressed. Andrew carefully didn't look anywhere but at Neil's head and Neil noticed his distraction and smirked, a pleased flush on his cheeks. How a person could have such an expressive face when they were the child of Nathan Dead-Eyes Wesninski and Mary No-Feelings Hatford was beyond Andrew, but there were many things about Neil that he would probably never understand.

He thought that he might like to try, though, if Neil let him.

*

Neil and Andrew spent the weeks leading up to their N.E.W.T.s either studying or kissing or distracting each other from studying by kissing, and got kicked out of the library for it no less than three times. Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor in the second week of March; though Slytherin, whose starting line was composed entirely of exam-riddled seventh years, struggled against Gryffindor and only barely won when Neil caught the Snitch right out from under the Gryffindor Seeker's nose at the last minute. Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff in the last match of the year and the Cup went to Slytherin. Kevin burst into ugly tears when Wymack handed it to him while Neil bounced up and down with Allison and Renee's arms around his shoulders, singing along to a rather rude song.

Exams were tiring and seemed to drag on forever. Andrew found it hard to concentrate in the sweltering greenhouses for his Herbology practical, not least because they were being tested on Venomous Tentacula and all Andrew could think about was Neil's mouth on his own.

The seventh years' graduation ceremony took place at the end of June. They all piled into the Great Hall, sweating and elated, for lunch and tedious speeches by the professors, and then the students' families joined them outside where large purple and white marquees had been erected to provide shade and space for students to mingle with their friends and prospective future employers who came to promote their businesses.

Nicky and Erik showed up with the twins' grandmother in tow. Ada was wearing a giant sun hat, proudly showed off a new tattoo on her bare upper arm, and immediately lectured Aaron and Katelyn about not informing her of their engagement right away. Andrew sneaked away to pour himself a goblet of iced pumpkin juice and avail himself of an éclair at the refreshment tables and was waylaid by Bee, resplendent in sunflower yellow robes.

“Hello, Andrew,” she smiled, “walk with me a bit?”

They left the noise of the crowds behind, ambling in the direction of the glittering lake. Insects were buzzing around in the trees and the Giant Squid was swimming lazy circles out on the water, evidently enjoying the sun on its thick hide. Andrew found King hunting frogs by the water's edge, though she ignored his outstretched hand in favour of bounding after a butterfly.

“Andrew,” Bee said, smoothing down the front of her immaculate robes. “I wanted to say how proud I am of you. You have really made a lot of progress this year and it has been a pleasure to observe. Thank you.”

Andrew gazed uncomfortably out over the water and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” he muttered at last, thinking back to third year. Wymack had been the one to convince him to join the Quidditch team, but Bee had been the first professor to really look at him and see something salvageable, something good.

“Oh, I'm sure you could,” Bee said kindly. “You don't give yourself enough credit. But I feel blessed that I was allowed to watch you grow into the young man you are. He's a good person, you know. You should take care of him.”

“I'll try,” Andrew said awkwardly, pulling up his shoulders, and Bee suggested going back to the party so she could talk to Jean and Renee. They ran into Allison on the way and Andrew stopped and called out to her while Bee walked on. Allison turned, strong eyebrows raised in a perfect arch, and sashayed over to him with a glass of something fizzy and lightly alcoholic in one hand.

“You want something, Minyard?”

Andrew straightened his shoulders and swallowed.

“Yeah, actually. That law firm of yours...”

“Hmm?” Allison hummed, sipping on her drink.

“Will you take on domestic abuse cases concerning Squibs?”

Allison looked taken aback for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, I suppose we will, once things start rolling.”

“Then you'll be needing an expert on the team,” Andrew said, not quite a question. Allison cocked her head to the side and considered this.

“Might be hard to find someone, but ideally, yes,” she said. “What are you getting at?”

“Well,” Andrew said, reminding himself to breathe, “I am one, and I happen to be in need of a job.”

Allison stared at him for a moment like he'd just lost his head and sprouted three new ones. True to her nature, though, she recovered quickly and tossed back the rest of her drink, her soft pink nails clicking against the crystal glass.

“Minyard,” she said, “are you seriously asking me to hire you?”

“Didn't I just say that,” Andrew ground out, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was dimly aware of a small commotion happening further up by the refreshment table, but his focus was narrowed on Allison, who pretended to give this some thought.

“Alright,” she smirked, snapping her fingers and making her empty glass vanish. “I should warn you, though, that Seth already approached me about a position as well, which means you two will be colleagues. I'll have your contract owled to you when Jean sorts out the paperwork.”

She left him standing there, cackling at the horrified look on his face, and then someone shouted “Riko's back!” and he whipped around, eyes immediately searching out Kevin.

He needn't have worried.

Kevin was tipsy and terrified, but he stood facing Riko across the drinks table, his finger jabbing at the air in front of him as he spoke. A small crowd had formed around them and Andrew moved closer to hear what he was saying, ready to intervene if necessary.

“...am worth two of you, Riko, and I'll prove it next season when we face each other on the pitch!”

He was shaking like a leaf but there was triumph on his face as he turned around to address the gathering crowd. Riko's features were contorted in anger and disgust.

“That's right,” Kevin said proudly, “I've just signed on with Puddlemere United and we'll be playing the Wasps first thing in September. I'm looking forward to meeting Riko again as an opponent, just not in green and not with my left hand.”

He was dramatic and ridiculous as usual but the audience loved it and a cheer went up, drowning out Riko's hateful response. He was pulled away by his uncle, who looked annoyed by the scene Riko had caused, and Kevin collapsed against Thea in relief and disbelief at what he'd done. Andrew decided his job here was done and went on to find Neil, passing by Wymack who was standing with Dan and Matt; and Renee who was laughing and being kissed on both cheeks by Allison and Jean – it seemed that perhaps she hadn't needed to decide between them after all. Over by the entrance to the castle, Alvarez was nervously introducing Laila to her parents while Jeremy was trying to smother a laugh behind his hand and Alvarez cast him dark looks.

Seth nodded at Andrew from where he was huddled together with a gaunt looking woman who seemed to be his mother. Andrew gave a jerky nod in return and made a detour to avoid his grandmother before she could spot him. She was busy chatting with Stuart Hatford anyway and seemed to have a yappy Crup on a leash with her that Stuart was eyeing warily.

“Looking for your boyfriend?” Katelyn sidled up to him out of nowhere, her hair already falling out of her bun, her nails once again painted Ravenclaw blue to match her dress robes. Andrew brushed a leaf off her shoulder and straightened her necklace.

“Have you talked to Whittier about scholarships yet?” he asked. Katelyn grinned.

“Yeah,” she said, “I've already sent off a few applications. I won't be able to start university until next year because of all the qualification stuff I need, but Abby said I could intern with her in the meantime and the school will even pay me a small wage.”

“Sounds good.”

“How about you?”

She nudged him, then hooked their arms together and steered them over to where Neil was talking to his mother – about broomsticks, it seemed, judging by his excited gestures.

“I'm working on it,” Andrew said and she nodded and smiled and then gave him a little push in Neil's direction.

“Go, lover boy,” she smirked, “don't keep your man waiting.”

“He's not my man,” Andrew tried to argue, but Katelyn was already walking away, whistling off-tune. He took the last few steps until he was by Neil's side.

“Ms Hatford,” he said as politely as he could manage, “I need to borrow your son for a moment.”

Neil laughed delightedly and Mary nodded at him and let him take Neil away towards the path that led to the Forbidden Forest.

“Where are we going?” Neil asked, sliding his hand into Andrew's as they walked.

“To the Occamies,” Andrew said. “I do not want to hear you whine about how you didn't get to say goodbye.”

Neil hummed and walked faster and Andrew had to make an effort to keep up with his long legs. It was cooler in the shade underneath the trees, the noises of the party now muffled and distant and the wind riffling through the leaves like fingers going through the pages of a favourite book. Andrew pulled Neil to a stop and leaned against the trunk of a large tree, tugging Neil with him so they were lightly pressed up against each other.

“Oh?” Neil smirked, fidgeting his fingers into the knot of Andrew's pink bow-tie, “what's this now? Did you have uncouth motives in bringing me here, Mr Minyard?”

“Your mouth is uncouth,” Andrew snarled, catching it in a kiss. He tugged on Neil's black bow-tie in retaliation, making it unravel, and Neil hummed against him, his hands finding their way into Andrew's hair.

They broke apart when they were disturbed by frantic meowing, and Neil smothered a laugh in Andrew's shoulder. King was running towards them, clearly worried about what Andrew was doing with her human.

“Are you going to take her with you?” Andrew asked when Neil crouched down to reassure her that he was okay.

“No, I don't think so,” Neil said. “This place is her home and it'll be a while until Allison's finished badgering the Ministry into letting us sell the estates. We're stuck with Stuart and his cats until then and somehow I doubt King will be happy to share me with them.”

Andrew could relate.

“I'm going to visit her, though,” Neil smiled, scratching under King's chin as she purred. “And the Occamies, of course. They're growing up so fast.”

“Have you decided which team to sign on with?”

“Nooo,” Neil moaned. “I think I'm going to use the parchment method again. The Foxtail turned out a good fit, after all...”

“Don't let Kevin hear you say that, he'll write you a ten foot exposé on each and every team on your list and then make you hand in an essay on why you picked the one you did.”

“I won't,” Neil said, grinning. “Or maybe I will, just to fuck with him...”

“You're insufferable,” Andrew told him, and held out a hand to pull him back to his feet when King got bored and wandered off. Neil took it and then didn't let go, and Andrew pressed their wrists together, searching for the steady current of his pulse.

“Come on, let's go,” he said, “before they send out search parties for us. I don't want to be put in Azkaban for kidnapping my boyfriend.”

Neil pulled him to a stop, sunlight dappling his face as the wind shook the leaves above.

“Am I?” he said mildly. “For real now, I mean?”

“Do you want to be?” Andrew asked, pretending like his mouth wasn't dry as parchment. “I thought you weren't attracted to anyone.”

“Mm,” Neil hummed, “you must be a statistical outlier. Yes, of course I want to be.”

“Good,” Andrew managed to say, and tugged on Neil's hand until he started walking again. Something crunched under his foot and he glanced down, seeing a pile of bird bones arranged in a lopsided pattern.

His stomach seized up in something that felt like the good version of dread. The death omens, apparently, were done with him now. He kicked the bones and their ridiculous, soppy message aside.

He'd better avoid tea leaves for a while, he thought. They were bound to spell out nothing but nonsense and naughty things. Maybe his dreams would be a little more fun from now on, though.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> If you want to chat about all things Foxhole Court, feel free to visit me at annawrites.tumblr.com and say hi!


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